


Broken Crown

by Moriarty_assbutt1



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blackfrost - Freeform, F/M, dub/con, medieval!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 111,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriarty_assbutt1/pseuds/Moriarty_assbutt1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medieval!AU.<br/>Sometimes a match made in court isn't a match made in heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Never Keep a Lady Waiting

The hallway was grand, far grander than those in the palace of Midgard. There was a certain grandiose fashion to Asgard, something that Natasha knew she would take time to get used to. Standing in her plain dress in the middle of the immense hall she felt exceedingly small and insignificant.

She chewed her lip nervously, ignoring the pointed look that Ivan sent her way. She didn't want this, this life of a 'Lady in waiting', to serve a queen she barely knew. Natasha found her mind wondering back to her time spent at Midgard, albeit it was a secluded kind of life and she had often found herself feeling alienated from the rest of the city, she still missed the simplicity of it all. What she wouldn't do for another one of those days where she was free from her chores to do whatever she liked, who knew how much time she could get now to explore when she had to serve the queen.

Ivan had assured her that the position of a lady in waiting was a notable one, and that she should do whatever she could to secure such a place in the court. He had feigned interest in it all by smiling at her, telling her how excited he was for her, but she could see the desire in his eyes, the desire for power. He longed for a place in the court, to whisper ideals into the kings ear and gain some kind of influence over the city of Asgard. Natasha often mused that in a past life he must have been some sort of great leader or even king, to desire such importance.

But Natasha cared little for his suggestions that she may find a suitable husband in Asgard, it had been his leading argument that she let him drag her to this far away city.

 _"Just imagine it Natalia!"_ He had rasped in excitement, using the name he only ever used if her wanted something or was scolding her. _"You will get to live in the palace, where you will be surrounded by noblemen who will gladly take your hand for marriage. Does that not sound like a perfect situation?"_

But Natasha had just shaken her head, there was no real point in refusing, no matter how much she disliked the idea. He would take her to Asgard kicking and screaming if she had refused, and she knew of their financial issues all too well, despite how he tried his hardest to keep them from her. Somehow the landlords that beat at the door incessantly each day were a dead giveaway.

Ivan had tried to gain access to the court in Midgard, looking for a position of an adviser or anything that could get him close enough to King Fury. But with Ivan's well-known escapades in the taverns, he had been turned down. Now was his last chance, he had already secured a space for himself in the court of Asgard, with the help of a few acquaintances who could vouch for him to King Odin. All that was left was securing Natasha a place as a lady in waiting. She had asked Ivan why she couldn't just stay with him, but he had told her of his need for privacy in his new home and how his new position would mean he would be far to busy to keep up with her. So Natasha was to stay in the palace, in her own rooms with no one she knew. Though she prided herself on her confidence, the whole situation still made her anxious.

"Do not bite your lip so, Natasha." Ivan snapped from where he sat, watching her pace the hallway slowly. He hesitated and gave her a small forced smile. "Surely you do not fear you will be rejected? You are of a noble birth, they will accept you immediately… as long as you desist in chewing you lips, try to act proper."

"I am not nervous about becoming a lady in waiting, Ivan, I am nervous about being one." She stated plainly as she glared at the older man. "I will be left alone, and though I shall be forced into the company of the other ladies in court, I shall not see you, you will leave me."

"Natasha, you cannot expect me to look after you forever, you are a young woman now, and I have no doubt that you cannot look after yourself." He told her, though it was a half-hearted speech, as he picked that the wooden chair he sat upon with a withdrawn expression.

"You've looked after me since I was a child, yet you know nothing about me." She longed to shout it at him, to relieve herself of the anger she had felt for some time. It had yet to bubble to the surface. "Do you really think I want this?"

"I don't quite care for what you  _want_  Natasha. Would you prefer we live in a run down farmhouse, with nothing to eat because we have no  _money_?" She could see how he too longed to voice his anger more powerfully also, but he would not risk upsetting the court. He sighed, once again masking his anger, the way he would always do so well, and she couldn't help but pick up on his trait after observing it throughout the years. "This situation will benefit the both of us. You will marry a noble man and I will gain the kings trust and help guide this kingdom into a better future."

Natasha rolled her eyes, he sounded like he was trying to assure himself more than anything. She turned away, continuing her pacing and stopping when she heard the door to the throne room open, jolting her back into the 'proper lady' act she had feigned upon her arrival that morning.

"The queen will see you now." A young guard informed them, bowing his head slightly as Ivan rose and led Natasha into the throne room.

"Queen Frigga." Ivan smiled as he sauntered into the throne room. His tone of voice was all sweetness and admiration, a vast contrast from his irritable nature Natasha had observed only moments ago. "This is my ward, Natasha."

Natasha curtsied and looked up at the queen, indeed she was as grand and beautiful as the rumours that spread from kingdoms told. She sat upon a large golden throne, adjacent to a larger, grander one that was vacant and most probably belonged to the king.

Frigga smiled and beckoned Natasha over. "Come closer child." She spoke in a soft, silvery voice. "I can barely see you from such a distance."

Ivan bristled beside her, and Natasha could tell her was berating himself for standing so far from the queen. He placed a hand on the small of Natasha's back, gently pushing her in the queen's direction. Natasha resisted the urge to shove him off of her, he knew how much she hated him pushing her places.

Frigga leaned forward on her throne, bringing her hand to Natasha's face and tilting her chin up to observe her appearance. "She is a fair young lady," Frigga smiled, "and most sweet of countenance. With hair like that I daresay she is a fiery one." Frigga chuckled, leaning back on her throne.

"She is the exact picture of her departed and much lamented mother." Ivan divulged, a smug smile coming to rest over his lips. "Though her eyes echo those of her fathers."

"Natasha is of no relation to you." It was more of a statement then a question, and Frigga had presumably discerned this from the way that Natasha held no resemblance to Ivan whatsoever.

"No, my queen. She was bequeathed to my overlooking after the great fire of Midgard many years ago." Ivan's voice turned from its previous cheer to a tone of much seriousness. "Natasha's parents and I were greatly close in friendship. They were a noble family, the Romanov's, I believe you may have heard of them."

"Indeed I have." Frigga let a gentle smile ease over her lips, showing a sympathetic look to the red-head before her. "The Romanov family has always been welcome here in Asgard, so to have a child of the Romanovs in the court would be my pleasure."

"You are most kind, my queen." Ivan bowed, sharing a subtle wink with Natasha that told her they were successful.

"Can she sing?" Frigga asked, turning the subject from the more melancholy matters.

"I can, your ladyship, but very ill." Natasha could sense Ivan's discomfort at Natasha's truthfulness, but if it saved her from having to prove her talents to the room of noblewomen, she would much rather be straightforward and ignore the looks she was getting from the other ladies in waiting.

"What about needlework." Frigga continued, and an amused smile now taking over her lips. Natasha decided that she quite liked her, despite being rather intimidating, she had a gentleness to her that made Natasha feel comfortable.

"I can sew." Natasha affirmed with a curt nod. "Indeed, to pass the time back home I would partake in dressmaking, and on occasion… poetry."

Frigga hummed in approval. "Reading or writing?"

"Reading mostly, though sometimes I find myself writing short poems, though none of them are worthy of any merit, it is a mere hobby of mine."

"Do not be so modest." Frigga teased with a grin. "I should hope that one day you will show me these poems."

"If it pleases the queen." Natasha found herself smiling in response. Perhaps the position was not quite so unnerving as she had once thought it.

"Welcome at court."

**~x~**

"What did I tell you Natasha?" Ivan was practically jumping with joy the moment he close the door to their guest quarters, already he sprung into action, gathering his belongings to move them to his new accommodations. "You will love it here, and I will not be so far away, if that is what you truly fear."

"You company in familiar to me." Natasha began with a sigh, knowing her persuasions weren't going to work, and part of her didn't mind so much, much to her surprise. "I should not like having to adjust to a new surroundings."

"I can no longer care for you." Ivan sighed, leaning back against the wooden dining table. His expression softened, and his words almost seemed genuine, but Natasha had learned long ago to never put so much trust in him. "You have been raised without a female influence, and I do not know how to raise a young woman. I have done the best that I could under the circumstances, but it is not enough. You will be better suited with other women."

Natasha gave him a withering look. She knew that to attend the queen was a great honour, and after her meeting with her that morning she felt less anxious about the whole situation, but it didn't seem to subdue the feeling in her gut that told her not to leave, that made her long for her shabby home back in Midgard.

"Come now, Natasha, pack your belongings, someone shall be here shortly to take you to your new rooms." Ivan gave her an encouraging smile before returning to his own trunks and packing his things.

**~x~**

Her rooms overlooked the courtyard that lead to the entrance to the palace, and Natasha soon realised that she would have to grow used to the sound of horse's hooves clopping along the cobblestone, and the sounds of drunken noblemen returning from the taverns. Her room was spacious, with a large canopy bed, a wardrobe, desk and chair. There was also a modest looking hearth, and beside it sat a cushioned seat for which to sit and warm oneself in the colder seasons. It was adequate accommodation, far nicer than her home in Midgard, and it would suit her nicely.

Natasha gave a sigh, looking around her new room and back to the window, where she could see the rolling hills and woods that seemed to stretch on for miles. She made a vow to herself, that when she found herself with time to spare, she would spend it exploring the grounds, for nowhere had she seen such breathtaking scenery. Asgard was renowned for it's picturesque structures and the forests surrounding the palace, yet she had never really believed the talk, not until now.

There was a curt nock at her door and Natasha turned to see it opening. She frowned, irked by the fact that whoever was entering her quarters had not waited for her approval. She opened her mouth to protest to the intrusion, but closed it upon seeing the dark haired woman who cautiously stepped into her room. She was beautiful, dressed in a long dark red dress that loosely clung to her figure, and a golden breastplate. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, with no visible hairs out of place whatsoever, making Natasha feel all the more inadequate in her plain, khaki green dress and a mess of red curls. From one look at her Natasha could tell she was a woman of importance, not just in garb but in the way she held herself.

"Natasha, is it?" She asked in all seriousness, holding her head high so to look down her nose at her.

"Yes." Natasha replied, trying to stifling the awkwardness that she felt. She peered at the door, reminding herself to lock it every once and a while. "I don't know who you are, but you might want to re-educate yourself on the concept of knocking."

"I'm Lady Sif." The woman gave an amused smile, assessing Natasha with her gaze. "The queen was right when she said you were a fiery one."

" _Lady_  Sif." Natasha observed, returning Sif's scrutiny. "So you serve the queen also?"

"Indeed." Sif nodded curtly in affirmation, her placid expression returned as if she remembered her purpose in Natasha's chambers. "Now we must be away, I am to give you a brief tour and then introduce you to your new responsibilities as a member of the court."

Sif left the room without another word, and Natasha paused before walking quickly to follow her. As they walked through the echoing halls, past guards, who sat playing dice, often sparing a glace at the girl with fire for hair, they walked past servants carrying heaps of fabrics or papers. The palace seemed a busy place, and Natasha had to remind herself that it was something she would grow used to in time. Sif pointed out many of the notable rooms, such as the kitchens, the dining rooms- there were many- and the library. Natasha nearly let out a moan of disappointment when Sif told her they would not be going into the library, as it was sometimes closed if a member of the royal family was using it and wished for absolute privacy.

"But perhaps we can return later on, and I may show you where everything is kept, as it is of a great expanse." Sif told her when she noted the look of chagrin on Natasha's features.

"It would please me greatly if we could." Natasha smiled, and Sif raised her eyebrows in surprise at her sudden delight.

"And that is the first positive form of emotion I have yet seen on your face." Sif exclaimed with a light laugh. "Being a lady in waiting is an honour, you know. It is not a matter to be forlorn about."

"In honesty, I find my self wondering about the disparity between a handmaiden and a lady in waiting." Natasha looked at the floor, expecting a rant about the nobleness of her newfound situation, much like the ones Ivan would rattle off with whenever she expressed doubt. Instead she heard a sigh, and looked up to Sif's sympathetic smile.

"I felt very similar once before, but once you have seen the celebrations that Asgard throws firsthand, once you have been  _formally_  introduced to the most important people of all the land, you will then come to appreciate that you are  _part_  of the court, not serving it." Sif put a hand on Natasha's shoulder and smiled. "A handmaiden, or any other kind of servant will not receive the treatment we do, and you should be very grateful that you have a proper bed to sleep in each night, some are not so lucky."

"Forgive me, I am grateful. The establishments are far finer than any in Midgard, I can assure you."

"Good. Now we shall continue with the tour, I think the stables shall be a suitable place to visit next, though they are fairly empty these days after half the city has gone to war." Natasha frowned, remembering the tales she had heard of a war may distances from Asgard and Midgard, and though Midgard had not offered their aid, Asgard's forces had been sent away, taking the two princes with them. It was probably why the city was in such a state of tension, the heir to the throne was at the mercy of the Jotun's, and with both forces so strong, it was difficult to determine who would come out victorious. Natasha felt a new wave of respect for the queen, to have her two sons so far away and at the front line of a roaring battle, she still seemed so calm and gentle when Natasha had met her.

**~x~**

They continued their tour throughout the palace and the grounds, and only just entering the forest beyond, but before Natasha could fully explore the depths of the dense forest she was pulled away by Sif who told her it was time to turn back.

"Do not get me wrong." Sif explained as they walked through the courtyard to ascend the steps that led into the palace. "I love a good adventure, my father and I would often explore those woods when I was but a young child, but it would be better to venture into them earlier in the day. It is getting late, and such a dense forest takes a good deal of time to explore. We would not wish to be caught there when the sun sets, or we shall not find our way back."

"Perhaps we may go sometime within the week?" Natasha suggested, and smiled at how Sif was taken aback by her response. "Exploring is something I have always loved to do."

"I think I am growing to like you, Natasha." Sif grinned as they paused at the top of the stairs. "It is not often you find a woman in the court who is not a stuck-up, prissy little idiot, just wait until you meet Amora. But you show promise, and I shall like to have a friend who is not a male, such company can be… restrictive as you may know."

Sif lead Natasha to a long gallery, where many young women sat reading or working on their embroidery. As they walked Sif relayed information about her three friends, The Warriors Three, who had also been sent to battle. Natasha longed to meet them after hearing only a few words of their bravery and skill in battle.

 _A warrior,_  Natasha thought, and Ivans suggestions of marriage came flooding back into her mind. She supposed if she were to find a man to marry here at court, a knight would do. She had always admired bravery and the skill needed for a war. And if they were not suitable for marriage, then she would be no less pleased to have them as merely her friends, seeing as Sif's descriptions of the other ladies at court we far from positive.

As Natasha sat and began to work on her embroidery with uncertain fingers, she spared a look at her surroundings. The gallery was just as grand as any other part of the palace, with high ceilings and breathtaking artwork, she realised that she could be contented with this new position, if not after some time to get used to it all, she could fit in rather nicely.


	2. Lavender and Camomile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '“You didn’t ‘run about’ with prince Loki?” Natasha smiled, assuming Sif had forgotten to mention him, but a scowl deepened on Sif’s brow and Natasha feared she had somehow offended her.
> 
> “Loki was… different.” Sif skewed her lips to the side in thought, pondering the correct word to say to do Loki justice. “He always has been, but we would play with him when we were younger, only because Thor would have to drag him along with us, as were his mothers, queen Frigga’s, wishes..."'

The next few days were busy for Natasha, she constantly found herself manoeuvring around the palace in a rush, delivering dresses to the queens chambers, writing letters on the queens behalf, embroidery and bringing herbs from the gardens to bring to the court physician Eir, who would then use them to make the kings medicines. However, it wasn’t all work that kept Natasha busy, as she would wonder through the vast gardens that the palace grounds had to offer in order to pick numerous herbs for Eir, she would often stop and enjoy the scenery. Back in Midgard it was not often that she had the chance to do so, and when compared to such splendour in Asgard, Midgard seemed a bleak sort of place, not worthy of appreciation.

Whenever she had time to spare Sif would drag her away from her room and walk with her along the border of the forest, never really going far enough to be completely enveloped in it. She promised Natasha that they would go further some day, but during such a busy time they would need to stay close to the palace in case they were needed.

“It’s the war.” Sif muttered one day as they were tiredly walking back to the palace. “It has everyone in a frenzy. It’s never usually this busy in the palace, or in the whole city for that matter. But we have an awful lot of newcomers who have evacuated the cities closer to the battle, and no doubt Frigga is keeping herself as busy as possible to keep her mind off of it all.”

“I’ve heard the king did not go to battle with his sons, yet I have not seen him once during my time here.” Natasha divulged. It was a matter that had been greatly pressing to Ivan, who whenever he had crossed paths with Natasha had made it excessively clear that he was irritated to have not had the chance to converse with Odin. Natasha knew exactly where he was however, there was a reason the library was always closed, but she wished to somehow extract a little more information from Sif as discreetly as possible to sate her surrogate father.

“It has been rumoured that he hides himself away in the palace library, overlooking his correspondence with his eldest son, Prince Thor.” Sif whispered, leaning in closer as if this was scandalous gossip. “Apparently he had insisted on joining his sons to go to battle, but with his past misfortunes in health it was decided he would stay, if not for his own health then to protect the kingdom.”

Natasha let out a long heavy sigh as they moved from the fields onto a path that lead to the palace. The war had apparently been going on for longer than she had thought, and though she knew Ivan had kept her fairly isolated back in Midgard, it was surprising that such information of the war was news to her. She decided that she was a little less grieved to have left Ivan, knowing that she was independent, well, more or less, and somewhat free to do what she wanted, instead of being cooped up in their little cottage back in Midgard, with little freedom, and unable to take a walk without permission. She couldn’t wait for a more peaceful time in Asgard, when she could spend her days relaxing in the gardens under the apple trees where she could read to her hearts content. She let out another sigh just from the thought of it all. “When will the war be over do you think?”

“It shouldn’t be too long now.” Sif replied with certainty in her voice. “If I know the Princes, and I do, rather well actually, they will be slaying the Jotunn’s as we speak.”

“You know them well?” Natasha asked, all the more intrigued by the way Sif nodded her head is if it were perfectly normal. She had yet to become acquainted with the princes, yet to even see what they looked like. She felt so out of place not knowing the local gossip, what the Princes are like, how temperamental they are. She still had so much to learn, and it was a daunting concept.

“I was raised at court, my father was a nobleman, and so I grew up alongside prince Thor and Prince Loki. It is also how I am so well acquainted with the warriors three.” Sif let out a long sigh, fiddling with the lace on her sleeves and absentmindedly kicking rocks out of the pathway as they walked. “It seems when we are young, we take little notice of gender, as if it is nothing at all. Yet, when we grow up… those notions grow more strongly in our minds and we separate from the men to become ladies. I dearly miss the days when I was free to run about with Thor, Hogunn, Volstagg and Fandral.”

“You didn’t ‘run about’ with prince Loki?” Natasha smiled, assuming Sif had forgotten to mention him, but a scowl deepened on Sif’s brow and Natasha feared she had somehow offended her.

“Loki was… different.” Sif skewed her lips to the side in thought, pondering the correct word to say to do Loki justice. “He always has been, but we would play with him when we were younger, only because Thor would have to drag him along with us, as were his mothers, queen Frigga’s, wishes. Otherwise he would sulk for the rest of the day and somehow manage to make everyone uncomfortable. He was tolerable at best, but sometimes his little pranks could go too far.”

She finished her rant through gritted teeth and Natasha didn’t press any further, not wanting to distress Sif any more than she already had. They approached the gates that lead to the palace courtyard and were greeted by the hustle and bustle of handmaidens and stable boys doing their daily duties. Sif noticed Natasha’s irked expression to be back to the hectic life of a lady in waiting, their time in the forest had seemed like heaven, to be away from their duties for but an hour.

“You should be thankful we’re not in the town.” Sif smirked, guiding Natasha back to the main doors of the palace. “At least up here it is slightly less busy, and you’re not in a cramped alleyway with waste being dropped onto your head.”

Natasha smiled back at Sif, impressed with how positive she could be. She seemed to make sure she took nothing for granted, always understanding that someone out there had it worse than she. It was a trait that Natasha hoped to pick up on in time, seeing as being brought up by Ivan had left her somewhat cold and pessimistic.

~X~

The sun was setting over the tops of the trees that populated the forest beyond the palace walls, painting the sky with soft pinks and yellows like something out of a dream. The sunset painted Natasha’s room with orange light as she sat at her window seat, gazing out to the courtyard. She had completely forgotten about the book in her hands, and instead, her attention was transfixed on the numerous carriages and horses being lead into the courtyard, and compared to the prior commotion, there was something different about the scene below. The horse’s riders were calm, with cheerful smiles on their faces as they strode into the palace. From what Natasha could see, they were seemingly grubby, as if they had been working in the fields all day, but their clothes were rich in colour and looked most expensive. Natasha frowned, wondering who they were and why they were in Asgard. She returned to her book when she realised it was probably a usual occurrence in Asgard, nothing to be so distracted by, and she had yet to fully understand the ways of this new kingdom, for it was truly, vastly different from Midgard.

There was a soft knock on her door, which told Natasha that it wasn’t Sif, if it were she would have already barged into her room with little consideration, which Natasha was used to by now.

“Come in.” She called from where she sat, too comfortable where she was to go and open the door herself.

The door creaked open and a thin blonde girl in a dress more plain than Natasha’s stepped into the room. She had a small smile on her face that was clearly trying to hide how nervous she was. She curtsied and cleared her throat before speaking.

“Queen Frigga requests your presence in her chamber.” She divulged in a small voice, her eyes looking anywhere but Natasha.

“Is anything the matter?” She asked, feeling slightly uneasy herself at the way this girl was acting around her. She was clearly a serving girl, by the way she was dressed and her mannerisms, perhaps that was why she was acting so shyly.

“No, my lady, she merely requires your assistance in preparing for bed.” Natasha withheld a sigh, the girl obviously did not comprehend her meaning when asking if anything was the matter, but nevertheless she stood from her seat and proceeded to follow the girl to Frigga’s chamber.

She stepped into the bedroom and had to stifle a gasp at its grandeur. The four-poster bed was carved from rich oak wood, with intricate details etched into it. Shimmering golden material hung elegantly from each post and caught the candlelight in such a way that it looked like magic. An abundance of candles were lit and placed around the room, lighting every corner with warm light. Frigga was sat at a large and ornate vanity, her reflection glancing in Natasha’s direction with a smile as warm as the candlelight.

“Natasha.” She smiled, turning slightly to face her. “Do not look so fretful, my dear, come in.”

Natasha stepped forward, making sure to not step too close to the queen, lest she make her uncomfortable.

“My queen.” She curtsied, returning Frigga’s friendly smile. “What is it that I may help you with?”

“I wonder,” Frigga said in her usual soft voice, turning back around to the mirror and fiddling with the pins in her hair. “Could you help me with these hair pins, they are truly impossible.”

“Of course, your grace.” Natasha stepped behind Frigga and began gently pulling the pins away. They were beautiful, long and silver with a blue flower on the end that stood out against Frigga’s golden locks. As she pulled more away, soft tresses fell from their place and draped over the queens shoulders. She was the perfect image of a queen, bold and yet so elegant with such friendliness to top it all off.

They were silent for some time, the only sounds were the gentle ding of the pins being set down into a glass bowl. Natasha was running a brush through the queens hair when Frigga let out a long contented sigh, her smile widening as she fingered the pendant that hung from her neck.

“Anything the matter, your grace?” Natasha asked, wondering if she should have asked at all, but she had always hated silence, even if it had not been awkward she still preferred to converse.

“Not at all.” Frigga smiled, meeting Natasha’s concerned gaze in the reflection with a small grin. “I am relieved, Natasha.” She said with a soft laugh that made her sound completely at ease. “I am most greatly relieved.”

Natasha paused for a moment, wondering if she should let curiosity get the better of her or stay quiet. After another moments silence Frigga laughed again.

“Are you not going to ask why?”

“Forgive me, why are you so relieved?” Natasha laughed in return, smoothing down Frigga’s hair in order to braid it.

“The king received a letter today from our eldest son, Thor.” She grinned up excitedly at Natasha who only smiled, allowing Frigga to continue. “He wrote to say that the battle of Jotuniem is over, and the soldiers are to be returning. Indeed, some have already returned this evening as they were not so far away as the rest.” Natasha recalled the peculiar sight in the courtyard earlier that evening, and the men in dirtied clothes began to make sense.

“That is wonderful news indeed.” Natasha grinned, happy to have the palace in a calmer state.

“I shall have my sons back.” Frigga sighed, her lips curling upwards. “And many guests with them, as my youngest son has written to tell me that Thor is to be bringing with him several comrades for the celebrations.”

Natasha finished plaiting Frigga’s hair and helped her out of her seat. Now standing, Frigga looked even more graceful than before, despite only being dressed in her nightgown and a long golden robe. Frigga handed Natasha a slip of parchment and walked towards her bed, removing her robe and slipping under the covers.

“Could you please read me that letter, Natasha? I long to hear my sons words again, even if they are not from his own lips.” Natasha nodded and took a seat on the chair beside the bed, unfolding the parchment in her hand.

“ ‘ _My dear mother,_

 _I currently sit at a lengthy table in the palace of York, where we stay tonight, thanks to the hospitality of our ally Anthony Stark of house Stark. I am currently seeing Thor, your beloved son, finishing his tenth flagon of ale, and while much like his friends beside me I agree this is indeed an amusing sight to behold, I cannot help but think about my return home_ …’” Natasha read the letter slowly, gradually becoming absorbed in the words of this allusive prince Loki. His script was sharp and elegant, and as he described his memories of the palace the writing became much like poetry.

“ ‘… _Yours most faithfully,_

 _Loki_ ’”

“My son has always been so good with words.” Frigga smiled sleepily from where she lay in her bed. Her eyes fluttered shut, and Natasha took that as her cue to leave.

~X~

If Natasha had thought the palace was busy before, she was ghastly mistaken. Indeed, the day’s prior had been almost tranquil when compared to how hectic the palace now was. With soldiers returning each day in droves, all parading themselves with smug, triumphant grins as they made their way to the taverns only to return to their rooms in the palace in the dead of night, successfully waking Natasha from her slumber as they stumbled around the courtyard.

Servants were restless, bringing food from one room to another in preparation of the great feast that was to be held in honour of Asgard’s victory and the fallen soldiers. Natasha couldn’t wait for it to be over. She had barely seen Sif once since the soldiers began to return, only passing each other in the halls and giving one another exhausted and weary looks.

Frigga kept Natasha busy, albeit her chores were not so taxing, and she was required to aid the queen in preparations for bed and occasionally read her correspondence. Frigga often expressed how she had grown fond of Natasha’s company, and asked her to sit with her whilst she worked on her embroidery.

Natasha enjoyed her time with the queen, it was the time when she felt most peaceful, most relaxed, as Frigga’s rooms were nicely secluded from the busier parts of the palace. However, having the queen form such an attachment to her did not bode well with the other ladies in waiting. As they all sat together in the long gallery, some working on their needlework, some reading, Natasha could sense the hateful glances being thrown her way as she read the queens letters to her. Sif was right to call them ‘stuck-up, prissy little idiots.’

~X~

Natasha lay in bed, restlessly trying to find a comfortable position to lie in, but it was futile, she would not sleep that night. She sighed, turning to her window to see the sun was beginning to make its ascent into the sky.  _Morning_  she thought with distain,  _fantastic._

It became clear that no good would come of lying around for the rest of her free time, and quickly hopped out of her bead and wrapped herself in a warm robe, covering herself from the cold. She thought about her options, she could use this time to read and other leisurely activities, or, seeing as the feast was that evening, and the palace would be as hectic as ever, she could start her responsibilities early so she may find some free time that afternoon and not get caught up in the hustle and bustle. She decided on the latter and dressed herself into a plain cream gown with a red corset. She threw a dark red hooded cloak over her shoulders and made her way to the gardens.

Frigga had also been having trouble sleeping those past few days, the excitement of her sons return making in near impossible not to stay conscious. Natasha knew just the remedy to treat her and began reciting the herbs in her head as she stepped out into the cold morning. Despite the early morning, Natasha was glad to get some fresh air and some solitude. The sun had not yet risen and the sky was a pale greyish blue with hues of yellow from the sun, the grass was slick with the morning dew and a thick fog drifted over the ground, making it difficult for Natasha to find her way. It was an eerie sight, yet no less beautiful.

She let her hands hang by her sides, gently brushing against the shrubbery, taking notice of each texture in order to discern whether she had reached the correct plant. She didn’t know the layout of the gardens terribly well, but she prided herself in recognising each plant she touched the leaf of. After a considerable amount of time spent roaming around the gardens, she finally found what she was looking for and knelt beside the plant, inhaling the sweet smell of lavender and let it tickle her nose. She began cutting off several sprigs and placing them gently in her basket so not to crush them, then moving to the plant beside it, knowing well that it was the camomile plant and collected some of that also.

As she worked, snipping away at the plant, her mind drifted to Ivan. After hearing of the battles victory, Odin had made a few appearances around the palace, though each time he was flanked by guards and noblemen. Ivan was free to converse with the king, and so his quest for power was near complete. She hadn’t seen Ivan in some time, and she supposed he was keeping himself busy with his work, or snaking his way closer into the king’s circle of trust. She hated herself for it, but she missed him, only slightly she found, but she missed in nonetheless. She was constantly surrounded by company here in Asgard, yet it was not so familiar to her as Ivan’s.

A distant crunch of leaves brought Natasha out of her thoughts. She looked up from the camomile plant, her eyes scanning the area warily. The scene around her was just as it was before, nothing changed. She put it down to a wild animal and continued her work.

“Who are you?” The voice sounded as if it were right behind her and startled Natasha, she jumped up from her kneeling position and spun around in one fluent motion to find herself face to chest with a man.

She looked up to see his face, though it was difficult to see through the haze, but she could see dark, ebony hair, slicked back with a few loose stands falling before a face with sharp features. She locked her gaze with severe green eyes, scrutinising her in every way.

“Is it not a little early to be wondering around in the gardens?” He asked, his expression was serious causing Natasha to feel a little intimidated. She assessed him fully, noticing his tatty green jacket and leather britches, he looked far from someone who had the right to speak with her so.

“I suppose I should be asking you the same.” She retorted, holding her head high and taking a step back so he wasn’t towering over her so threateningly. “I am collecting herbs for the queen if you must know, what is _your_ purpose in the palace grounds?”

“Collecting herbs for the queen? She is not taken ill, surely?” He sounded truly concerned, and it wasn’t hard for Natasha to believe. With a queen as kind and just as Frigga it was to be expected that the villagers cared for her as she cared for them.

“You did not answer my question.” Natasha pressed. It would not do to have the townspeople sneaking into to the palace gardens and stealing.

“I am a gardener.” He sighed, rolling his eyes exasperatedly. Natasha narrowed her eyes, watching him closely for a falter in his façade, but alas, he seemed to be truthful. She had always prided herself in detecting falseness, it had always come in handy with Ivan, how else had she discovered the truth of his gambling their money away at the taverns back in Midgard? “I suppose you are a handmaiden to the queen, judging by your style of dress.”

It was true that Natasha dressed plainly to the rest of the ladies in waiting, but she would have liked to be recognised with someone with a little more status than a servant. She frowned up at him, watching as his eyes roamed her body hungrily. The letch.

“I am a lady in waiting.” She corrected, forcing herself not to speak through gritted teeth, who did this man think he was?

“My apologies.” He smirked, leaning forward to reach for a sprig of lavender behind her. His face was so close to hers as his arm snaked around her to retrieve the plant he had picked, and she kept herself for leaning away, standing her ground. He chuckled as he moved back, rolling the spring between his thumb and forefinger slowly. “It is an impressive disguise then.”

“It’s not a disguise I assure you. I have little need for them.” Natasha replied, keeping her sentences terse and cold as she fidgeted with the fastenings of her cloak, this caught his attention and his smirk widened into a smug grin. “This is the way I dress.”

“So I suppose that means you are new to Asgard.” He drew his eyes from her hands and met her gaze. “You will become absorbed with the latest fashions soon enough, and the fire you have in you now will die out, I have seen it happen many times.”

“Ah yes, the gardens must be a perfect position for one to observe the goings on within the palace.” Natasha smirked, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. The man merely smiled, bringing the lavender to his nose absentmindedly.

“I see more than you would expect.”

Natasha sniffed in a disinterested manner and looked down at her basket. She supposed what she had collected was enough and decided it was time to deliver the herbs to Eir.

“Farewell then, gardener.” She nodded and turned to take her leave, but his next words stopped her.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I see little logic in standing around and conversing with the palace servants.” She sneered and turned again to leave. The sun was already fully risen, and the rest of the palace would be waking soon for the busy day ahead of them.

“Farewell, my lady.” She almost missed his last words to her, had they been any quieter she surely would have. She sighed, repressing the urge to ask herself why this man didn’t seem to know his place with her. Perhaps it was the way she was dressed, and she made a mental note to wear something a little more pleasant for the feast that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I figured out why I had such awful writers block these past few weeks! I went for a run the other day, the first time in a while due to an injury, and all these ideas for this chapter just came to me! I used to run a lot when I started Beauty of the Dark and my other fics, and I never realised just how amazing it is for time to think. So you can thank my left calf's healing for this chapter.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! And I promise more Loki in the next chapter, I'm just setting the scene at the moment.
> 
> Please review! xxx


	3. Mischief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I suppose you’ll have to meet him to fully understand his character. But I must warn you, as well as being manipulative and cold, Loki is also decidedly mischievous.”

Natasha was glad that she had decided to collect herbs that morning, despite certain interruptions, but the following afternoon she managed to find herself with time to spare. She dragged Sif, who came all too willingly, to the forest where they could take their walk and relax, far away from the stressful goings on in the palace. This time they wondered a little deeper into the forest, deeming themselves worthy of a little exploration after such busy days prior, but they made sure not to go too far.

The soft afternoon light filtered through the tree branches, sending specks of partial light to gleam upon the leaf covered ground. The towns could be heard from far away and the distant cries of children playing gave the afternoon a peaceful sort of mood.

They walked slowly, not talking as much as they usually would, only out of sheer exhaustion, yet they enjoyed each other’s company no less.

Natasha let her mind wonder to the gardener she had spoken with that morning, and his peculiar manner of speaking towards her, as if he had the right to think himself above her. She hated to admit it, but his little quips had gotten to her, and she had made sure that when she returned to her chamber that she dressed into her second best dress for that day, saving her very best for the feast, lest she be mistaken for a serving girl once more. Even if he had been a mere gardener, mistaking her for a servant had left Natasha feeling insulted despite her best efforts to brush it away.

“Have you heard the news?” Sif asked, breaking the silence. She turned to Natasha, barely suppressing her excitement.

“News?” Natasha asked tiredly. She had been miles away and nearly missed Sif’s question.

“The princes and The Warriors Three returned last night.” Sif grinned, unable to contain her elation at such news. “Lord Fandrall has told me that Price Thor is hosting a hunting party tomorrow, and we are more than welcome to attend!”

“I’m surprised you’ve managed to keep the news to yourself for so long, seeing as you’re practically hopping with joy.” Natasha chuckled, absentmindedly picking a leaf off of a nearby bush and picking at it. “But should we be allowed to participate, or are we to attend solely for our company?”

“Unless you are particularly skilled in hunting, I doubt you will be given such an opportunity.” Sif sighed, somewhat irritated that Natasha had reminded her of the disadvantages in their sex.

“Alas,” Natasha returned the sigh, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. “I am little acquainted with the art of hunting beasts, Ivan made sure my skills were advanced in more… practical past times.”

“You mean more  _female_  past times.” Sif smirked, shaking her head softly. “My father once taught me a little about hunting before he past away, and after that my mother made sure I was diverted from such masculine interest.”

“So would you be given the opportunity to hunt tomorrow?”

“I suppose, given that Prince Thor trusts me to use a weapon safely, perhaps I can teach you and you may participate in another hunting trip in the future.” Sif smiled hopefully, and the yearning to return to her old hobby was evident on her features.

“I would like that very much.” Natasha grinned, pausing to grasp Sif’s hand in a gesture of thanks. “Have you been on many hunting trips before?”

“Very few.” She replied, both Natasha and her turned to begin walking again, slowly making their way back to the palace, their leisurely time being almost up. “They usually take place when the royal family has visitors, and I hear that Prince Thor has brought back an abundance of new friends, Loki bringing back none, though I couldn’t expect any less from him.”

“You still resent him for old childish feuds?” Natasha inquired, her curiosity getting the better of her. Sif had never held back from divulging information about Thor, in fact, she was often very enthusiastic about such a topic, yet the younger prince was rarely brought up in their conversations, only making Natasha the more curious.

“Oh, believe me when I say, it was no mere ‘childish feud.’” Sif’s brow deepened into a scowl, her mood clearly souring from the topic of the prince. “He… he is not a person to be trusted.”

“This is awfully dangerous,” Natasha murmured, noting the presence of a few peasants some distance away. “Speaking of the monarch in such a manner could get us hanged.”

“Well half the kingdom thinks so!” Sif argued, throwing her arms up in anger. “It is no secret that he is an untrustworthy man, that he longs for the throne despite only being the second in line for it. In truth, I fear for the life of Thor, a man with such determination as Loki would do anything for power, no matter what family ties would be severed.”

“I could never imagine that desire for such things could lead to the murder of ones brother.”

“When you have everything, like the princes do, you often take your family for granted, it is not as important to someone who can have whatever they want at the click of their fingers.” Sif returned, her knowing tone gave Natasha pause.

She thought back to the letter that Frigga had made her read before she had drifted to sleep. The elegant handwriting and the poetic wording, how could anyone who thinks so beautifully be as cruel and dark as Sif made him out to be? But she was reminded of Ivan, his quest for power, and how it had driven him to give her up in order to proceed in his plans for jurisdiction.

“I suppose you’ll have to meet him to fully understand his character. But I must warn you, as well as being manipulative and cold, Loki is also decidedly mischievous.” Sif gave Natasha a serious look, and Natasha had to keep herself from laughing. It was as if she was about to meet a wolf or poisonous snake, and should have to take some form of protection against him.

“I shall look forward to it then.”

~X~

Natasha waited in the gallery where Sif had asked her to wait before they both made their way to the feast. She was dressed in a long, wine red, silk gown with a belt that was crafted out of gold to make the shapes of leaves and vines. Her hair was loosely held back, letting only a few tresses fall before her face, her lips were painted the shade of red and her cheeks given an artificial rosy tint, thanks to the handmaiden that had helped her prepare. When she had looked at her reflection in the mirror, she had barely recognised the woman staring back at her. She had dressed up formally in the past, yet Asgards fashion was far more intricate and bold. She was no longer Natasha of Midgard, but Natasha of Asgard now, and it was just another thing to grow used to.

“Natasha?” The red head spun around to see Sif walking towards her, a bemused expression on her face. She was dressed in a long silvery gown that shimmered in the candlelight and her hair was draped elegantly over one of her bare shoulders. “Could this really be the Natasha I have come to know?” She jested, gesturing to Natasha’s garb and scrutinising her as she closed the distance between them.

“I’m afraid so.” Natasha grinned, looking down at herself. “Do you think it is a little much?”

“Gods, no!” Sif exclaimed, laughter bubbling over her lips at Natasha’s self doubt. “I believe you shall have the attention of everyone when we walk into the hall.”

The walked to the grand hall where the feast was being held, already masses of guests, all dressed in their best apparel, were ambling around the room, holding goblets of wine and talking amongst themselves.

Frigga and Odin stood beside one another, in deep conversation with a number of noblemen whom Natasha recognised from being constantly immersed in conversation with Ivan whenever she had seen him. Ivan. Natasha had forgotten that he would be there, and quickly began scanning the crowds, hoping to get the chance to speak with him before they were seated for the feast.

“Look.” Sif whispered, clutching Natasha’s arm with one hand and pointing in the direction of a cluster of men, all standing around, laughing at something one of them had said. “They are Prince Thor’s guests, from the Kingdom of York.”

Natasha tried not to stare too much, but felt oddly intrigued by the mysterious new guests. A man with dark brown hair, dark eyes and a goatee seemed to be the main focus of their conversation, as he stood proudly, seemingly jesting a considerable amount, by the way the others kept laughing after he spoke. Beside him stood a man, looking equally important as the latter. He had short blonde hair, and looked as though he was hiding embarrassment whenever they all began to chuckle. There were two others, one with curly dark hair, who stood a little shyly from the rest, and another who was downing a flagon on ale, almost spitting it out when another joke had been told.

“They seem lively.” Natasha murmured, her interest quickly turning back to finding Ivan.

“I can introduce you to the Warriors Three if you wish.” Sif replied, her clasp on Natasha’s arm loosening.

“If you excuse me, I think I shall seek out Ivan, I long to speak with him.” Sif nodded with a small smile, and turned away, slowly disappearing in the throngs of people.

Natasha waded through the crowds, picking up a goblet of wine on the way. The hall was abuzz with the conversations of others and the jaunty music being played upon on the balconies only added to the liveliness of the scene. It was clearly a celebration, everyone was merry and all smiles. Natasha caught Frigga’s eye once or twice, and was greeted with a gentle smile and a nod. She wondered if the attention she received from the queen was normal, seeing as she was not as intimate with her other ladies in waiting. Before she could think on it too much, her attention was caught on the familiar white hairs of her surrogate father.

“Natasha!” He smiled, turning to look at her fully. “You look delightful, my dear.”

“It is good to see you.” Natasha returned the smile, happy to see him in such a light-hearted mood. “I feared you would be too busy working your way into he kings council.”

Ivan frowned, and Natasha regretted her words, fearing that perhaps some of her prior anger towards him had bubbled to the surface, but Ivan’s frown quickly melted away and he grinned again. “There is little work left to be done on that subject, my dear, I have earned his trust since the war ended and I had the ability to speak with him more, so tonight is a night to celebrate.”

“I am glad.” She smiled, taking a sip of her wine.

“How are you faring in the queens court?” He asked, picking a goblet off of a passing tray. “I hope you do not miss me too much.”

“I miss home.” Natasha sighed, deciding to be honest with herself instead of holding her tongue. “Yet, I suppose in time Asgard could become my home, and queen Frigga as very kind, I enjoy my days here.”

“I am happy that you have found a way to be happy.” Ivan replied, his eyes were saddened and he exhaled a heavy breath. “I wish I could have granted you with a motherly figure when you were young, and I wish I could have been accepted into the court of Midgard so we would not have had to move. This is all for the best, I cannot assure you enough.”

Natasha opened her mouth to reply, but a large silence filled the room, and she looked round to see Odin standing on a platform, waiting for everyone’s attention. It was the longest Natasha had seen him, only ever able to catch fleeting glances at the king when he marched around the palace, always flanked by his courtiers. She turned fully, giving the king all of her attention, and scrutinising him from afar. He wore bronze armour and a long flowing red cape, his silvery hair brushed back from his face, upon which sat a large golden eye patch, a constant reminder of the battles he had faced and the bravery of their king.

“Welcome.” He began, his voice a deep tone and roughed with age. “Tonight we dine in celebration of our victory, and the many lives lost in the process. In a moment we shall be seated for the feast, but first, I wish to announce the return of my dear sons, Thor and Loki, and to share with you my pride at their consistent shows of valour and greatness.”

Odin raised his hand and gestured towards the main doors of the hall, they opened slowly, and the sea of bodies parted to make way for the princes’ entrance. Due to her height, Natasha could not see the two men that entered, so instead she turned her sight towards the king, waiting for the princes to meet him there and be more visible.

First a muscular man stood before the king, who patted his shoulder lovingly. He had lengthy blonde hair and a kind face. He turned to smile at the crowd, winking at a crowd of ladies who failed at stifling their gasps of excitement. He was wearing similar clothes to his father, though in place of bronze, he wore colours of silver, blue and red.

But it was the second prince that made Natasha’s jaw slack and eyes widen. She almost dropped her goblet of wine as the second price, announced as prince Loki, turned around to face the crowd and reveal himself as the gardener she had conversed with that morning. He gave a curt bow, his features remaining stony, yet when his eyes met with hers a small triumphant smirk worked its way upon his lips.

 _That snake._  Natasha thought bitterly, For him to have let her embarrass so tremendously herself that morning and never letting on that he was the prince of Asgard!

Mischievous indeed.

~X~

The guests were all seated at tables around the hall, and Natasha was placed beside two of Prince Thor’s guests, a Lord Barton and a Lord Rogers, Sif, and a fellow named Fandral, who Sif had introduced as one of The Warriors Three.

They were pleasant company, and when Sif secluded herself to a small conversation with Fandral, Natasha turned to Lord Barton for company.

“So, how long have you been at court?” He asked, turning to face her better.

“Not long, I’ve been here just over a week.” She replied, ignoring the nagging sensation that someone was watching her. It wouldn’t surprise her if they were, as Sif had said she would have the attention of many that evening, and yet she couldn’t determine who it was that watched her.

“Only a week? You  _are_ new, where do hail from?” He grinned curiously, and Natasha admired the way he gave her his full attention, she was all too used to having men only pretend they were listening to what she had to say.

“Midgard.”

“Natasha Romanov of Midgard.” He said, testing the name on his tongue. “You’re not related with the noble family of Romanov are you?”

“Indeed, I am their daughter.” She refrained from nervously chewing her lip, speaking of her family always made her uncomfortable, and on many accounts she had purposely forgotten to mention that Ivan was her adoptive father, so to avoid the conversation of her birth parents.

“I hear they were very good people.” He smiled sympathetically before taking another swig of wine.

“I wouldn’t know.” She sighed, unable to keep herself from dampening the mood, but unfortunately the conversation had taken a sombre turn. “They passed away when I was very young, so I never had the chance to know them.”

“I’m sorry, it must be difficult for you.” Barton sighed sadly. His sympathy was amiable, and Natasha decided that she quite enjoyed his company.

“I find it is difficult to mourn those we never knew, nor loved.”

“I agree.” Clint smiled, he took another sip of wine and straightened out his shoulders. Lord Rogers, the taller blonde who had been sitting with them turned to face her after being involved in a conversation with Fandral.

“Will you be joining us on the hunt tomorrow afternoon, Lady Natasha?” Lord Rogers asked, resting on his elbow to lean closer to her, so to be heard over the chatter and music.

“I shall, but I must admit that I am little acquainted with hunting.” She smiled politely and took another sip of wine, already beginning to feel it going to her head.

“I’ll teach you.” Lord Barton winked with a large grin, and Rogers chuckled under his breath as he eyed the mans goblet of wine suspiciously. It was quite clear that he had a little too much to drink, but luckily in his drunken state he was still pleasing company.

“Thank you, but I already have a teacher I am afraid.” Natasha laughed, nodding towards Sif, who was still deep in conversation with her friend.

“Too bad.” Barton let out a breathy laugh. “No one knows how to shoot an arrow like I do.”

~X~

Lord Stark, another of Thor’s guests, and the one with the dark hair and goatee, was also very pleasant company, despite the many occasions that Natasha found him looking at her behind. But nevertheless, they made a fantastic pairing when it came to the dancing. A large space was cleared where the guests partook in the dance to the lively music that the instruments produced.

Despite the earlier distractions from the pleasant company, Natasha still hadn’t gotten over the true identity of the Prince, and Sif’s words from earlier that day came back to mind,  _‘as well as being manipulative and cold, Loki is also decidedly mischievous.’_

The younger prince had either immersed himself in the company completely or disappeared altogether, because Natasha had not seen him once since he had made his entrance, and only slightly when a toast was made later.

The dance ended, and Natasha gave Stark a curt bow, who returned it with a smug grin on his features. He stepped forward to ask for another dance, but paused when he seemed to spot something from behind her. A look of annoyance overcame his expression and Natasha turned to see what had caught his attention. She found herself, once again, face to chest with price Loki, and once again he wore the same triumphant grin.

“May I have the next dance?” He asked, and knowing that she would be a fool to refuse a prince anything, she nodded and stepped into place. This dance was a slightly slower in pace, and required the dancers to dance with only their partner, much to Natasha’s dismay.

“So, do you often spend your time playing peasant at the break of dawn?” Natasha asked slyly as they began to move together. Loki let out a small chuckle and his lips stretched into a grin.

“Did I surprise you?” He asked, seemingly entertained by his prank. Natasha didn’t answer, and only scowled back at him in response. “I did not plan on speaking with anyone this morning, I merely wanted to walk in peace, but I noticed you picking at the palace garden and quickly became concerned, if not a little curious.”

“Concerned for what?”

“Picking herbs before the sun has fully risen, anyone else would have thought you were practicing witchcraft.” Loki smirked down at her, and Natasha hadn’t fully realised before just how charming he was, he used it to his advantage no doubt.

“Witchcraft is not frowned upon as it is in Midgard.” Natasha stated plainly with a shrug. “I see no reason you should be alarmed by it.”

“Ah, but it all depends on what form of magic you were to be performing, if it were dark, well, that would definitely deserve some concern.” He licked his lips as he continued to grin at her, and Natasha was proud that her placid expression did not falter.

“But I was doing nothing of the sort.” Natasha replied tersely, moving away from him as part of the dance and then moving back to find him with a more serious expression.

“I must apologise if I insulted you, I knew very well that you were not a serving girl.” His apologetic smile was almost endearing, and Natasha felt a little dizzy from how quickly his attitude had changed. “Indeed, I knew who you were the moment you turned around.”

“How so?”

“My mother wrote about you profusely in her letters to my brother and I, it seems she is quite fond of you. Perhaps it your decision to pick her herbs before anyone else has woken up.” Loki chuckled at Natasha’s expression of sheer disbelief and elaborated further. “She was most pleased to have the last living member of the Romanov family in her court, they were very close with my parents. Their portrait still hangs in the library, and you are the picture of your mother.”

Natasha couldn’t help the way her feet had rooted to the ground and her jaw hung open in surprise. A number of dancers began colliding with her and Loki quickly pulled her aside, avoiding the curious glances of the other guests.

“I am sorry.” Natasha finally managed when Loki lead her to a quieter spot. “I- I am suddenly out of sorts, I thank you for the dance, my lord.” She curtsied and speedily made her escape before Loki could say anything else. Her mind was focused completely on his last words,  _‘Their portrait still hangs in the library, and you are the picture of your mother.’_

Natasha was determined, when she next had time to spare, she would find that portrait.

Loki watched her walk away, another grin gracing his features at his ability to make this woman so flustered. He often found much entertainment in doing so, but there was something far more interesting about this woman, perhaps it was the way she didn’t fall at his feet like the other ladies in waiting. Nevertheless, he was pleased to have some new entertainment upon returning to his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Eeeep, so I hope you guys liked this! It was the hardest chapter to write so far!
> 
> I would like to send a HUUUUGGGGEEEE thank you to everyone that reviewed and followed this story! Seriously, I didn't think this fic would get so many follows so quickly, and it's definitely forced me to up my game.
> 
> Also, another MASSIVE thank you to my girl AlisonAPD for the fic cover, you are awesome! And thank you to TheEmoVanity for offering to make one! I'm sorry you didn't get there in time :L 
> 
> And another thing... When I was describing he dress that Natasha was wearing and her hair, I was basically describing this look from Merlin http://img. photobucket .com/albums /v194/msilverstar/ pub/Morgana .jpg (Just get rid of the spaces)
> 
> And my knowledge of Medieval dances is slim to none, so I didn't elaborate much on it, leaving it to your imagination as you can probably come up with something better than me.
> 
> Please review! I do so love it when you do! x


	4. The Lord & Lady Romanov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I suppose it was luck.” She managed, her voice still weak, much to her disdain, yet she allowed a small smile to form on her lips. She was proud of herself after all.
> 
> “No, I think it is a natural talent.” Loki countered, “Your father was said to be very skilled with his aim.” He stepped backwards, reaching for a letter opener that lay on a desk beside him. “I would like us to partake in a little experiment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: THIS IS NOT A CLINTASHA FIC. I REPEAT. THIS IS NOT A CLINTASHA FIC.
> 
> I got an annoying anon review telling me that there wasn't enough Clintasha... sorry but no.
> 
> Though this fic may have a little bit of a cockblock!Clint, but then again most blackfrost fics do, I'm just trying to establish their relationship at this point. I love Clint and his relationship with Nat, so I want to make it as true to character as possible without romance. Obviously later on in this fic there will be cockblocking, but not all completely from Clint. This is 100% Blackfrost, and I plan on keeping it that way...
> 
> Anyway, here's the next chapter! x

 “Did you enjoy tonight’s festivities, Natasha?” Frigga questioned, smiling at her in the reflection on her vanity mirror as Natasha pulled the last pin from the queen’s hair and placed it gently in the glass bowl beside her.

“I did indeed.” She replied, forcing a smile as she picked up Frigga’s golden locks to begin plaiting it.

“What is it, child?” Frigga inquired, her gaze hardening in concern as she sensed Natasha’s discomfort.

Natasha hesitated, wondering if it would be appropriate to bring up the portrait of her parents, but she did not wish to overstep any boundaries, and besides, it was likely that prince Loki was lying for his own entertainment.

 “It is nothing, my lady.” Natasha feigned a more believable smile and finished with the queen’s hair, stepping back to signal that she was done. “I must admit that I am feeling a little overwhelmed with the happenings in the feast, but I enjoyed myself regardless.”

“Asgard’s wine is very strong.” Frigga chuckled, standing from her seat and turning to smile at Natasha. “I am sure that you will feel better in the morning.”

~X~

Frigga was wrong.

As the morning sun peaked through the gaps in her closed curtains and beamed brightly onto Natasha’s face, successfully waking her, Natasha found that she did not in any way feel better.

Her head throbbed and her mouth so dry she could barely swallow. She pried herself away from the comfort of her bed and stumbled to her full-length mirror, frowning at the dishevelled girl looking back at her. Her bright red hair stuck out in strange places, her face pale like snow, she looked like something that had crawled out of the grave.

Natasha let out a low moan and began preparing herself for the day ahead, feeling a little more unwell when she remembered that today was the day of the hunt.

She and Sif sat alone in the gallery, Sif working on her sewing and Natasha flicking through the pages of a book she had read many times before, longing to venture into the library and find something new. They were both as bored as each other, allowing an occasional sigh to escape their lips.

Having promised to join the hunt that day, they did not have enough time to partake in their usual duties, and found themselves with a full hour before the party was scheduled to leave.

“How are you faring?” Sif smirked, watching as Natasha turned another page absentmindedly.

“My head hurts.” Natasha complained, her eyes not leaving her book despite the fact that she could hardly concentrate on the words.

“Mine too, but it is something you will grow used to.” Sif chuckled, setting down her needlework and sighing. “You have not been raised on Asgardian wine, the effects must be stronger on you.”

“I can tell.”

“But everyone feels it, some way or another. It is so strong here, it’s just the ‘Asgardian way’.”

“Then why does anybody drink it?” Natasha looked at Sif, frowning in bemusement.

“Because, the effects are quite pleasing, before it begins to wear off.” At this, Sif grinned and poured herself a goblet of water. “It makes you believe that anything is possible.”

“Is that not awfully dangerous?” A small smirk played on Natasha’s lips, recalling the audacity of some of the guests, and how she must have appeared stone cold sober in comparison to them.

Sif smiled and opened her mouth to reply, but a large crash of doors being flung open jolted her from her thoughts. Both women looked up and saw the two princes sauntering their way down the long gallery, they looked deep in conversation, yet Natasha could not make out what they were saying. They stood from their seats and curtsied as Thor looked from his brother and noticed the two ladies in waiting before him.

“Brother, it seems we have stumbled upon the two loveliest women in the kingdom.” Thor winked and proceeded to kiss the hands of both Sif and Natasha. He took a seat opposite them and gestured towards Natasha. “Is this not the very woman that our mother has spoken so generously of?”

“It is.” Loki replied tersely, moving stiffly to take a seat beside his brother, across from Natasha. His legs wide apart as he leant back, bringing one hand to his lips as his gaze swept over the two women thoughtfully. Thor on the other hand sat with his elbows resting on his legs, leaning forward interestedly as he fixed his gaze with Natasha’s.

“Our mother is infatuated with you, my lady.” He announced with a large grin. “It appears that you have been a great comfort to her these past days.”

“The queen was very kind to have accepted me into the court.” Natasha replied, still feeling uneasy with Frigga’s attachment to her. She should feel flattered, to have the queen hold her with such high esteem, yet it confused Natasha. Why did the queen take such interest in  _her_? She was nothing special, unless Loki’s rumour was true.

 “Why wouldn’t she have? To have a Romanov in the court of Asgard once more, it is something that my mother holds very dear to her heart.” Thor leant back on his seat, a self-satisfied smile overtaking his features at the idea that he had just flattered Natasha to oblivion. Instead Natasha paled. So it was true.

She turned to look at Loki who failed at hiding his smugness behind his hand, fuelling her ire. She speedily hid her shock behind a placid mask and turned back to Thor.

“I suppose the circle is complete then.” She jested, and Thor let out a low chuckle.

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Did you enjoy the feast last night, my lord?” Sif asked, having picked up on Natasha’s well-hidden insecurity and wishing to change the subject.

“I did.” Thor grinned, turning back to Sif. “Though I was grieved to have not had the chance to converse with the two of you.”

“You were the host, we could not expect you to greet everyone individually.” Sif smiled, her cheeks flushing red a little. Natasha turned to Loki who looked back at her with an expression that read  _‘You may as well get used to it._ ’

“Did the two of you enjoy yourselves?” Thor inquired, eyes flickering between the two of them before finally resting back on Sif.

“I did.” Sif answered first, another smile spreading across her lips, and Loki shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I was glad to see the Warriors Three once again, and your guests were very agreeable.”

“They continuously expressed their excitement for the hunt this afternoon.” Natasha divulged, catching Thor’s attention again.

“No doubt Barton was flaunting his archery skills.” Loki sneered, picking at the upholstery of his seat as he watched Natasha from under his lashes, his lips drawn in a tight line.

“Indeed.” Natasha laughed, though Loki did not seem to share the humour and it became quite clear that Barton and Loki were not on the best of terms. “He offered to teach me, though I told him that Sif had already planned on teaching me the art of swordplay.”

“You turned him down?” Thor laughed in disbelief. “He won’t like that. I should expect it would only intrigue the man more.”

Natasha couldn’t help but blush slightly, having not realised that Lord Barton’s intentions were of that manner. Though if she thought about it, such a match would not be disapproved of. Clint was a nobleman after all.

“But Lord Barton is a very good man.” Thor assured her. “They all are, Barton is indeed a gentleman.”

“If drinking yourself to sleep and killing by shooting sticks at people warrants the title of ‘gentleman’ then you have it correct, brother.” Loki muttered, clearly disinterested in their conversation.

“And what  _does_  warrant such a title?” Natasha countered, irked by his bitterness.

“Good family, manners, intelligence and respect.” Loki listed off, his tone sharp as he fixed Natasha with a cold glare. And here he thought they were getting along swimmingly.

“If a gentleman requires all such traits then I scarcely believe that any exist at all.” Thor cut her off with a loud guffaw of laughter, even Sif’s lips twitched in amusement at Natasha’s Courage.

“We do.” Loki uttered in a cold tone, scowling at Natasha as though she were is worst enemy. He paid no attention to Thor, who was nearly falling out of his seat with laughter.

“Come now, brother.” Thor grinned, patting Loki on the shoulder when he had calmed himself. “You cannot think yourself a  _proper_  gentleman. Surely.”

“I have grown weary of this conversation, Thor.” Loki drawled, his eyes still trained on Natasha, she didn’t even flinch under his glare. “We should go prepare for the hunt.”

“Very well.” Thor chuckled, standing from his seat and bowing to both women, who stood also. Loki was not so courteous, and immediately walked down to the other end of the gallery, followed by his brother who chuckled to himself as he went.

When they had left, Sif turned to Natasha, her lips parted in a small ‘O’ shape that quickly turned into a huge satisfied grin. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much.”

“Do you think I offended him terribly?” Natasha bit her lip in worry. How often was she going to openly offend the price? Because it was becoming quite the habit.

“Does it matter?” Sif laughed, her smug grin never faltering. “You  _are_  brave. To speak to a prince in such a manner, some would be hanged. Though you are lucky that he seems to have taken a liking to you.”

“Taken a liking to me?” Natasha’s brows drew together in confusion as she searched Sif’s expression for an explanation. “What do you mean?”

“He danced with you last night.” Sif explained, though it didn’t satisfy Natasha’s curiosity.

“So?”

“Loki never dances.”

“I can tell.” Natasha murmured, picking up her book and flicking through it again.

“You should watch how you speak however. Loki may have liked you before, gods know what he thinks of you  _now_.”

“You and Thor seemed very friendly.” Natasha smirked, changing the subject. She peered over her book to see Sif’s face turning a shade of deep pink.

“I have missed his company, that is all.” She declared, fingers pulling on her gown uneasily.

“Of course.” Natasha chuckled from behind her book, and from the way Sif later kicked her lightly in the shin, she heard it.

~X~

It was the perfect day for a hunting party. The incandescent sun gleamed down from the clear sky. As servants hurried to prepare the horses, Natasha and Sif stood proudly beside one another. During the feast, Clint Barton had never realised how striking Natasha was, she wore a white chemise and deep red leather bodice, paired with tight brown breeches and knee high boots. Having last seen her looking beautifully elegant at the feast, seeing her now, looking like a warrior, Clint’s eyes widened at the sight of her. He pulled his comrade, Lord Banner from his horse’s side and walked with him over to the two ladies.

“Lady Sif, Lady Natasha.” Both men bowed and the women followed up with a terse curtsy in greeting. “It is good to see you again.”

“You look well Barton.” Natasha smiled, pleased to see a familiar face. “I take it last nights festivities were not too overwhelming for you.”

“Not in the slightest.” He grinned back at her. “I don’t believe you two had the pleasure of meeting my friend, Lord Banner, last night.” He gestured towards Bruce Banner, who smiled and stepped forward.

“For that I must apologise.” He began, smiling awkwardly at them both. “I had to leave quite early, and so I had no chance to converse with anyone of the court. It seems that banquets can be a little too much for me, I much prefer a quieter atmosphere.”

“It matters little.” Sif smiled sympathetically. “At least you did not sample the wine, it seems Natasha is a little out of sorts because of it.”

“Couldn’t handle the Asgardian libations, huh?” Clint smirked with a small chuckle. Though his amusement was purely good-natured, Natasha failed to withhold a frown. She disliked being seen as weak, and Lord Barton seemed to think of her as a rather fragile being.

“I am stronger than you think, Lord Barton.” She spoke with a small curl of her lips as she moved smoothly down the steps and approached her horse that had been brought around. A servant moved forward to assist her bust she waved him away and hoisted herself up onto her steed with ease. She looked down at the men, noting the smug grin on Sif’s lips in her peripheral. Lord Banner’s eyebrows shot up so far they looked like they would fly off of his face, yet Barton let out a soft laugh, obviously impressed with her strength.

 ‘ _I should expect it would only intrigue the man more.’_

~X~

The party set out soon after, led by Asgard’s princes and the king. The rest of the party consisted of The Warriors Three, who rode beside Sif and Natasha, Prince Thor’s honoured guests, a number of noblemen from the kings court, including Ivan, and a few other ladies in waiting. There were a plentiful amount of servants who trailed behind on foot, carrying food and spare weapons.

They rode into the depths of the forest, and Natasha couldn’t help but gawp at the beauty of it. Having never stepped so far into the area, she admired everything she saw. The afternoon sun filtered through the branches of the trees that towered above her. The ground was covered with orangey-red leaves that crunched under the horse’s hooves. It most certainly exceeded her expectations. Sif caught her eye, and she seemed almost amused by how Natasha was reacting from her environment.

“I told you we would venture further one day.” She smiled broadly and turned her attentions back to the trail.

As they kept travelling, Natasha found herself amongst the princes guests, riding beside Lord Rogers and Lord Stark.

“How long do you intend to stay in Asgard?” She inquired, turning to the men beside her in an inquisitive manner.

“I must return to York in a few days.” Lord Stark announced, sounding a little grieved to be leaving so soon. “The Lady Pepper awaits.”

“Lady Pepper is your wife?” Natasha presumed, an eyebrow cocked in question.

“That she is, my lady.” Stark grinned proudly. “A beautiful queen for a beautiful kingdom.”

“I wonder why you did not bring her to the festivities.” Steve interjected. “I’m sure she would have enjoyed it greatly.”

“Ah, there must always be a Stark in York, dear Rogers.” Lord Stark laughed as they continued to ride through the dense forest.

“What about you, Lord Rogers? Will you be staying long?”

“I should hope so.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling in a handsome manner. “I wish to trespass on Odin’s hospitality for as long as he’ll have me. Asgard is indeed a wonderful place.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Natasha replied, catching the glares of a few jealous ladies in waiting, though she was quite used to it by now.

“Just don’t stay too long, Steve.” Lord Stark added firmly. “You’ll be needed at court in York.”

~X~

They slowed by a small clearing, and Natasha looked up to see prince Loki raising his hand to halt the rest of them. Stark released a small disgruntled sigh, and Natasha’s lips curled in amusement. Clearly Loki was not a favourite amongst Thor’s friends, even The Warriors Three had expressed their discontent, in very subtle ways, of course.

She turned to see a herd of deer amble into the centre of the clearing to graze. Almost automatically, Lord Barton raised his bow and prepared an arrow. Loki, careful not to make any sound, slipped a dagger from his sheath on his belt and angled his wrist, ready to hurl it at the animal.

“I’ve got this one.” He breathed, just loud enough for the rest of the party to hear. Clint slowly lowered his bow with a quiet sigh, and watched as Loki adjusted his poise.

He flicked his wrist so fast, Natasha barely saw the dagger fly from his grasp and bury itself in the skull of the nearest deer. She would have gasped at the sight, had she not been so secretly impressed with his skill.

As the animal fell to the ground with a thump, the rest quickly sprinted off. A few being caught by speedily flung arrows and daggers, Natasha could only watch as they stumbled limply to the ground and lay there lifeless, waiting to be tied up and carried off by servants.

They continued on, occasionally finding themselves on the trail of a boar, and Natasha watched as Prince Thor finished them off with his sword. Whilst some ladies gasped at the sight, and turned away, giggling with each other over the activity, Natasha watched on in fascination. However, after some time spent observing the hunt, she felt herself longing for something to do. Conversing with the hunts participants was amusing, but Natasha wanted to do more than just watch.

The party stopped in another, larger clearing that was situated beside a gentle brook. The servants quickly began setting down tables and placing platters of meats and fruits onto it. Natasha dismounted her horse and removed her leather gloves, looking around at their surroundings with a detached expression.

“You are bored, Lady Romanov.” Clint observed as he dismounted his horse and sauntered over to her. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Perhaps I have grown a little weary of merely observing.” She smiled, accepting a goblet of wine from a passing servant. “And we have not seen any decent game for some time. I think we may have cleaned the whole forest of all its wildlife.”

“Don’t speak too soon.” Clint grinned as he looked past her, already slipping his bow from where it hung on his shoulder. Natasha turned around slowly to see a Fallow Doe walking slowly and cautiously by brook to drink. A few others noticed the doe and walked over to get a better look. “Here.” Clint passed Natasha his bow, and she accepted it with a bemused frown. “Give it a try.”

“She’ll miss and it will scare it off.” Loki hissed. Natasha had barely noticed his presence; she was too excited over her opportunity to take part.

“Give her the benefit of the doubt.” Clint told the prince, though he never took his eyes off of Natasha, smiling proudly.

“Thank you, Barton.” She smiled, and prepared an arrow with ease. She trained her aim on the doe, watching the animal as it absentmindedly drunk from the stream. She hesitated and let the arrow drop a little. “I don’t know how comfortable I am with murder.”

“It is not murder if you honour the animal.” Loki muttered monotonously from beside her, as if he was reciting a sentence he had heard many times before. “And today’s catch will be more than enough for the feast tonight.”

Natasha wasn’t sure if Loki was assuring her or ridiculing her for her discomfort. But his tone seemed to contrast from his words. She brushed the thought away and raised the arrow again. Without thinking too much, she released the arrow, sending it shooting towards the doe and burying it in the space between its eyes.

The rest of the party cheered as the doe fell backwards and stumbled to the ground. Natasha merely stared in disbelief.

“Looks like you don’t need any training after all.” Clint laughed, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“A natural aim.” Loki mused, still watching where the doe had fallen. He turned to Natasha with a smug look on his features. “It must be in your blood.”

She glared after him as he walked away from her. What was it with him and his obsession with her family?

Sif rushed over to her side, her face a mix of shock and pride as she congratulated Natasha excessively.

“You told me you had never even held a weapon!” Sif grinned, thrusting another goblet of wine into her hand.

“Beginners luck?” Natasha guessed with a small laugh as the two walked back to the rest of the party.

~X~

“I think this is just what we needed, Natasha.” Sif announced as the two reclined on a large embroidered blanket that had been placed in the clearing with the other ladies in waiting. Platters of food surrounded them as they watched the men amble around, discussing matters of little importance to the women. “To be out of doors for longer than an hour, and actually doing something rather than just walking.”

“Your saying my company was not enough for you?” Natasha jested, and Sif merely laughed, denying her accusation. Natasha smiled softly, she would have laughed had her mind not been so preoccupied with thoughts of the rumoured portrait. She had only ever heard of her parents through tales, she would greatly like to see what they looked like.

~X~

She opened the door to the library softly, slipping in so not to make too much noise. She didn’t know why she was acting as though she were on some sort of secretive mission, but something about the whole situation made her subconsciously as stealthy as she could be.

Had anyone else been present, she would have been embarrassed by the gasp that escaped her lips. The library was far grander than she had ever imagined. It consisted of three floors, all walls lined with books. The first floor contained stacks upon stacks of old, thick, leather bound books. Plush red armchairs and chaise lounges were placed generously around the room for visitors to relax and read. Everything was made out of dark, richly coloured wood and beautifully deep reds. A large hearth on the left side of the room warmed the atmosphere so nicely, Natasha was sure she would be content to stay there for the rest of her days. Two wide staircases lead to the next levels, they were more like spacious balconies, and the bookcases were spread further apart to make space for portraits. She decided that would be where she would begin, and made her way to the steps.

It didn’t take long for her to find it, only one portrait in the whole gallery contained the image of an important looking man standing beside a woman who’s crimson hair matched Natasha’s so perfectly, it had to be her mother. In her arms was a newborn child, deep blue eyes peering out from under the blanket it had been wrapped in.

Natasha felt tears prick in her eyes as she red the plaque that was placed beneath the portrait.

_‘The Lord and Lady Romanov with daughter, Natasha Romanov.’_

So it was true. But she had no idea that she had been born in Asgard, just how long had she lived there? Was that why Frigga was so attached to her?

“Do you see what I was talking about?” She heard the familiar voice of the prince behind her, and Natasha spun around, curtsying as she avoided her gaze with the prince, lest he see how here eyes were reddened.

“My apologies, my lord.” She murmured, keeping here eyes trained on his feet. “I did not know the library was occupied, the door was unlocked.”

Loki waved away the formality and stepped forward, prompting Natasha to meet his gaze. He gestured towards the portrait with one hand, a book in the other.

“Do you not see how much you resemble your mother?” He asked, stopping beside her as she turned to look at the painting once more. “It’s the hair, the nose… and the lips.”

Natasha felt herself go flush, he may have been speaking with completely innocent intentions, yet the way he looked at her after speaking of her lips sent a pleasant shiver though her body.

“But you have your fathers eyes.” He continued, turning to face her a little better. “I’m surprised you didn’t know this portrait existed.”

“Ivan Never told me, and I hadn’t before had the chance to enter the library.”

“Would you care for a tour?” He asked, an eyebrow cocked. He placed a hand on the small of her back and began to walk with her without waiting for an answer. He didn’t really need one, the eagerness in here eyes was badly hidden.

He showed her the other portraits, of famous noblemen, old kings that were long dead. He showed her where certain books would be situated, where the librarian would sit so that she could ask where to find what she wanted. All the while Natasha felt like she was holding her breath. The prince of Asgard, of all people, was walking her around the library, presenting her with numerous books and promising her she would enjoy them. It was indeed a surreal experience, his attitude was so changed that she wondered if she had dreamt up this gentlemanly prince.

“You did not know that you were born in Asgard, I presume.” Loki wondered as they meandered through the bookcases on the first floor.

“No, I had no idea.” She replied, her voice was small, though, not out of shyness but out of precaution, she didn’t want to offend the prince twice in the same day.

“You don’t remember anything?”

“How could I?” She asked, stopping in her tracks out of confusion. “I was only a baby.”

“You lived in Asgard for four years,” He announced, his tone somber, and Natasha went pale again. There was so much that she didn’t know, why had Ivan not told her any of this?”  “Until your father and mine had a small dispute, and felt it best for you to return to Midgard.”

She could recall hazy memories of golden building, much like the ones there in Asgard, though she had always thought very little of them. Suddenly they made sense. “How do you know this?” She asked in a whisper, her voice unable to be more than such without breaking.

“I was five when you were born, I remember it vaguely, Thor would know more than I, but I do remember when you left. My mother was distraught to see your parents go, she had grown so accustomed to you in court, I think it was because she did not have a daughter of her own. Your mother and father were the closest to my parents than any other at court, like family. When you and your parents departed from Asgard, it left a rift in the court.

“When the news came, only days later, that your parents had perished in a fire, I remember my mother wept for days. It was believed that you too were amongst the deceased. So as you may imagine, when she discovered your true parentage, she could hardly contain her joy on such a matter, the letters she sent to my brother and I are proof enough of that.”

Natasha was speechless. It was as if he were speaking of someone completely different from herself. She had always known of her true parentage, Ivan had been sure not to keep her from that, but their reputation; their status was completely unknown to her.

Loki seemed to notice how shaken she was, and decided it was appropriate to change the matter of their conversation.

“I was very impressed today.” I stated, and Natasha looked up at him. He hated how his heart twinged at the sight of the single tear running down her cheek, he was not adept when it came to soothing ones nerves or emotions. A change of subject was the most he could do, to try and pull her away from the more melancholy recesses of her mind. “Your aim was near perfect.”

“I suppose it was luck.” She managed, her voice still weak, much to her disdain, yet she allowed a small smile to form on her lips. She was proud of herself after all.

“No, I think it is a natural talent.” Loki countered, “Your father was said to be very skilled with his aim.” He stepped backwards, reaching for a letter opener that lay on a desk beside him. “I would like us to partake in a little experiment.”

He handed her the letter opener, and she took it without question, but her expression reflected her bemusement.

“What is it that you wish me to do, my lord?” She questioned, weighing the knife in her hands.

“Please, ‘Loki’ will suffice.” He stepped away and pointed to a spot on the wall before dabbing his finger in a pot of ink and marking the spot where his other finger rested on the wall. “Now, I want you to throw the letter opener, and I want it to land on this very dot.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but…”

“Please?” He cut her off. “It will not matter that you penetrate the wood with the blade. With the amount of time that I spend in this room, I think it suitable for me to be the one to worry about its appearance.” Natasha was not sure if she had imagined it, but was the prince… pleading?  

“What if I miss?”

“That is what we are trying to discover.” He grinned slyly, stepping back towards her.

He stood behind her, hands resting on her hips gingerly as he helped her align her stance. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck he was so close. She was sure he could hear the way her heart was thrumming violently against her ribcage. It was the first time she had ever been so physically close to a man, and of course it had to be a prince.

“Good.” He breathed, his chin a hairs breadth away from resting on her shoulder. Natasha felt her body subconsciously leaning into his, and her eyes fluttered closed as she inhaled the smell of smoke that lingered around the prince, most probably from the small fire that had been set up during the hunt. Just as Natasha was beginning to grow fond of the contact, he pulled away. But Natasha found it was much easier to focus without the prince breathing down her neck, literally and figuratively speaking. “Now, when you’re ready.”

Without a moment to hesitate, Natasha flung the letter opener at the mark. It moved so quickly she had barely registered when it sliced into the wood, only Loki’s echoing claps and laughter were what told her that she had hit the mark perfectly.

“I told you.” He smirked, pulling the blade from the wall and handing it back to her. “Natural aim.” He picked up an old, dusty and forgotten book, twirling it in his fingers a moment before holding it out in front of his chest. “Now try again, and this time aim for the centre of the cover.”

“I could hit you.” She protested. Sif may think him mischievous and cruel, but one thing was for certain, he was tremendously reckless.

“I trust you.” He smiled. He said the words so nonchalantly that Natasha had to wonder if they even meant anything to him.

“Really, my lord… I-”

“Natasha.” He cut her off sternly, giving her a look that seemed to say,  _‘Are you really going to argue with me?’_

She closed her eyes in exasperation, taking a deep breath. Was she really about to throw a blade at the prince?

“It would be best if you did not close your eyes for this.” Loki quipped, a shudder of worry running down his spine.

She aligned herself in the right position, training her aim on the cover of the book. In one swift flick of her wrist, the blade soared through the air and buried itself in the centre of the book with such power that Loki took a step back out of sheer surprise. He chuckled, turning the book around to get a look at Natasha’s good work.

“It is as if you have been training for your entire life.” He laughed, a little out of disbelief, but mostly out of amazement.

Natasha couldn’t help but share the Loki’s enthusiasm, and a large smile overtook her lips, stretching into a grin. “Sif will be sad that I no longer require her teaching.”

“Well, Sif has always had difficulty keeping a lid on her emotions.” He muttered bitterly, still examining the book with interest. His lips twitched at his own remark and he set the book down on a desk, reaching his spare hand toward Natasha. “Walk with me to the dining hall, will you?”

“Of course.” Natasha replied, managing to stifle her surprise. She took his hand as he led her to the hall in which numbers of court members were preparing for another round of feasting.

Loki’s arrival did not go unnoticed, nor did the red headed woman on his arm. Natasha swore she saw a grin pass the queens lips as Loki led her into the room.

Not wanting any more unwanted attention, Natasha pulled her hand away from Loki’s and gave a quick curtsey, murmuring a ‘thank you’ before slipping away into the crowds of rowdy guests. All the while she was unaware of Ivan, watching intently as he sat at the kings side, his mind already bubbling with plans to use her to his advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:I was going to publish this earlier this morning, but I went to get a Christmas tree instead, and then found myself preoccupied playing Candy Crush for the rest of the day, but here it is, finally!
> 
> I was as little bit worried at first with this story, because I knew the sort of outline that I wanted, but I didn't know the whole plot before I started writing. But good news! The other day at work, I was completely away with the fairies and managed to come up with the rest of the story, and let me tell you guys, I am soooooo excited for you to read it. Hell, I'm excited to write it!
> 
> Anyways, you guys are so awesome for your reviews! Please don't stop with that, because I love it so...


	5. Secrets & Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The house of Odin is overflowing with secrets and lies. It is our duty, as members of the court, to take whatever actions necessary to keep them from surfacing.”
> 
> “Think on it.” Fitch interjected. We will give you until tomorrow morning to have come to a decision, but know that your refusal with lead to your loyalty to the court being questioned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews! I wanted to get this chapter out sooner, but my head has been aching like crazy recently, so I had to distance myself from my laptop, as I thought that may be the cause of it all. Also, I've basically used three names from Norse mythology for my own use later on in this chapter, I looked into their characters as much as possible, with what little sources I have, but this is AU, so i guess there can be a bit of a stretch... right?
> 
> Anyways, enjoy my lovely readers! x

 “You were very impressive on the hunt yesterday.” Ivan muttered, his attention focused on the way he was cutting his venison. He sat across from Natasha as they ate their dinner. It had been an idea of hers, something that had been mulling in her mind for some time, for them to sit down together for a meal at least once a week, in order to catch up on each other’s busy lives. She had tracked him down earlier that morning and proposed the idea. Dinner took place in Ivan’s quarters, unlike Natasha, he had been allocated an adjoining dining room and study. “I’m surprised at how well your aim was.”

“Apparently it must be in my blood.” Natasha retorted, not looking up at her father figure. “I am told that my father was very skilled in such area’s.”

Ivan’s interest was instantly piqued, and he looked up at Natasha with curiosity flooding his expression. “And who told you that?”

“Loki.” Natasha replied, meeting Ivan’s gaze just soon enough to notice a spark of excitement flare in his eyes. “He says I have a natural aim.”

“I did not know that you were on such informal terms with the prince, enough to address him without his title.” Ivan prodded, trying to squeeze as much information from Natasha as he could. “It is considered rude, and in some cases there are consequences, to not address a prince by his title.”

“He asked me not to.” Natasha murmured, feeling somewhat sheepish. Was it normal for the prince to ask such a thing?

Ivan suppressed a gleeful smile, her situation was exactly how he needed it to be. But that all could come later, and he nodded, allowing Natasha to continue with what she was saying.

“Anyway, it is besides the point.”

“How so?” Ivan questioned, returning to his plate, feigning disinterest.

“There are things that you have not told me about my parents, Ivan. Things that I should have known.”

“Everything that I disclosed with you was the truth.” Ivan sighed, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them as he watched her reaction. She was frowning, seemingly unsatisfied with his answer. “And everything that I kept from you was purely for your own safety.”

“My safety?” She repeated, her brows knitting together in a cocktail of anger and confusion. “Surely it would have been better for me to have known everything, to avoid such embarrassment from my own ignorance?”

“I suppose prince Loki told you everything.” Ivan muttered irritably. He clenched his jaw, unsuccessfully hiding his anger that the very information he had kept from Natasha was now common knowledge thanks to the prince.

“That I was born in Asgard, that my parents and the king and queen argued before my departure, yes, he told me that much. Is this why you brought me back? As if I were some sort of peace offering, something you could use to help you worm yourself into the court?”

“Natalia, enough!” Ivan shouted, slamming his fist onto the table, causing the plates to shake in their place. The use of her more formal name that he only ever used in excitement or anger causing her to freeze in fear. “I am not this man, this man that you have convinced yourself that I am! I have spent half of my life raising you, trying to do best by you, but still you think me diabolical and cruel!”

“I’m sorry.” She stuttered. As much as she hated to admit it, Ivan’s anger scared her more than most things. He was such a calm man a majority of the time, but when his temper was lost, he was like a completely different person. Natasha usually prided herself I her fearlessness, but this was a matter in which her bravery ran thin.

“After everything I have done for you, do you truly believe me to be so tyrannical, so cruel?” He asked her, under his heated façade, Natasha could detect his hurt from her words. “We shall speak on this matter no more, I think our dinner is over.”

~X~

“You must keep your body relaxed.” Sif told her, demonstrating the correct stance, holding her sword out in front of her, pointing it at Natasha with a wide grin. “Keep it balanced, so you may strike or parry without coming to any harm.”

Natasha copied her stance, making sure she had the correct footing before she looked back at her friend, an eyebrow cocked as if to say, ‘Next?’

They were the only two in the training grounds, something Sif had anticipated when she had suggested teaching Natasha that morning over breakfast. It was too early for the men to train, some still eating, even sleeping still. The hour wasn’t so early for Natasha, she was used to activities in the morning, even if most of the time it was running out to the gardens for herbs or climbing the ladder in the library for books, though the latter was a more recent activity.

Sif guided her through the correct techniques of swordplay, teaching her how to block, how to strike. Natasha was surprised to find that Sif was in fact rather talented in that area, she swung her sword with elegance and precision, something that Natasha was finding difficulty with.

“You’re adapting to the weapon well.” Sif stated, as the two rested on a bench to the side of the grounds. “When my father taught me, I took a while to even learn the proper way to hold it. You seem to learn quickly, though I would suppose your natural talent lies in working from a distance, like firing arrows or…”

“Throwing knives?” Natasha guessed with a smirk.

“Precisely, I- wait, when have you thrown knives?” Sif questioned confusedly.

“Never mind.” Natasha answered, shaking her head. She supposed bringing up her knife-throwing lesson with the prince Loki was not such a good idea, especially since Sif seemed to loathe the man. “Do you think there will be another hunting party?”

“I should think not, not after how much game they brought back last time.” Sif said thoughtfully. “I believe even after tonight’s feast, the kitchens will still have enough for another week.”

“There is to be  _another_  feast?” Natasha gasped, her hand instinctively moving to her belly. She didn’t know how much more of the rich, meaty foods she could take.

“It is to pay homage to the King Starks departure, he leaves tomorrow with his courtier Lord Banner and a few of his other men, but I think Lord Rogers and Lord Barton have plans to stay.” Sif divulged. “But you can always expect many more feasts to come, I think gorging is the only thing that a man can do.”

“No, my lady.” Volstagg interjected, seemingly appearing from nowhere. Natasha didn’t think that a man of his structure would be any good at sneaking up on people, yet he was successful in making Sif jump almost off of her seat. “It is, in fact, all we  _want_  to do.”

“Well, that and perhaps visiting the whore house once or twice.” Sif laughed.

“Now, now, Sif.” Fandral laughed, walking from the open aired corridor at that opened up to the grounds. “Do not be so vulgar.” Sif’s cheeks reddened as Hogun and the prince Thor appeared shortly afterwards, she and Natasha instantly stood up, but Thor smiled and gestured for them to sit back down.

“Is it not a little early to be training?” Thor asked, though his tone was more of amusement than confusion.

“It is the only time we can, without being interrupted by you odious men.” Sif retorted slyly, and Natasha would have gasped at her words, had she not known of how well she knew these men.

“At least, that is what we thought.” Natasha joined in, enjoying the feeling of being so impudent, it felt so long since she had been able to actually say what was on her mind, rather than holding her tongue and being as polite as she could manage.

“Tell me,” Prince Thor grinned. “Why is it that two ladies, such as yourselves would want to learn how to fight?”

“To pass the time.” Natasha replied. “Sif and I have a whole day to ourselves, and I’ve always enjoyed learning new things.”

“And Sif always likes to boss people around.” Fandral smirked, laughing when he noticed how Sif scowled at him.

“Lady Natasha, I was wondering if you would take a walk with me.” Thor announced bluntly, changing the matter of discussion so sharply that even Hogunn, who always kept a rather placid expression, faltered and narrowed his eyes in wonder.

“Of course.” Natasha nodded, sensing Sif’s eyes on her warily. “Though, I would not wish to take you from your friends.”

“It is no matter.” The prince replied, holding out his hand to help Natasha stand. “I will return to them shortly, but first there is a matter in which I wish to speak with you on.”

The Thor walked Natasha down the corridor, lined with pillars, away from Sif and the Warriors Three. It was not until they were a considerable distance from them that Thor decided to finally speak.

“My brother has informed me that you now know of your situation with your parents.” He raised an eyebrow at her as if to ask if this statement was correct. Natasha nodded and Thor looked away, continuing with what he had to say. “But as he was quite young all of those years ago, it seems that I know more than he, though I would never say such a thing in front of him, he is far too proud.”

Natasha sniggered at Thor’s quip, and even he broke from his expression of seriousness just long enough to flash a cheerful grin.

“There is still so much that I do not know about myself, and though Ivan never once bent the truth, I fell as though I have been deceived all of my life.”

“There is one matter in which I am more knowledgeable than my brother, as it concerns me and not him.” Thor paused, thinking of a correct way to put his words. “You know that your parents left Asgard after a quarrel with my own?”

“Yes.”

“The reason for such a disagreement was the proposition of betrothal between the eldest son of Odin, and the daughter of the Romanovs, to combine two houses, so beloved by the people of Asgard.” Thor took one look at Natasha’s horrified expression and sighed. “Your mother was adamant that the betrothal not take place, she believed you should have the right to choose who you marry, and my mother shared her belief.

“However, my father believed it an honourable pairing, and he demanded that your father consent. Your father, at the will of your mother, asked mine to reconsider, to perhaps compromise and return to the matter at a later date when you and I were much older, but my father was unrelenting. Thus a rift was created between the houses, and your parents no longer felt welcome in Asgard.”

“But, what of the betrothal now?” Natasha inquired, wide-eyed and trying to stop herself from panicking. She hated it when people tried to force her into things she did not want to do, and though he was a prince, and a good man, the last thing she wanted was the throne. There were too many complications with such a position, a queen would never fully have control over her life, and have to meet the expectations of the public. Natasha was far more comfortable in the position she was in then.

“Seeing as your parents are deceased, and you are of a certain age, there is no way a betrothal can take place without your consent.”

“Thank the gods.” Natasha let out a long sigh of relief at Thor’s words. Freezing when she realised what she had said. “I’m sorry my lord, it’s just…”

“Do not worry.” Thor chuckled, patting her on the shoulder. “I must admit, when I discovered this, I too was relieved. I mean no offense of course, it is just that…” He trailed off, his head turning in the direction of where they had come, and Natasha knew what he meant.

“You know, Sif has been complaining to me all day about how here feet ache after Volstagg tripped on them during the dance at the feast the other night.” Thor turned to her, looking confused at the strange change of topic, but Natasha merely smiled and continued. “I’m sure tonight at the festivities, she would benefit from a more experienced and… agile partner.”

Thor blinked, comprehending her meaning. He took a slow intake of breath before his lips split into a grin. “I’m sure she will not be disappointed.”

~X~

She was sat on the red velvet chaise lounge, having noticed that she was alone in the library, save for the librarian that was hidden behind stacks of books, she let herself splay all over the seat, finding the perfect position for reading. The fire beside her crackled in the hearth, and painted her with a warm orange glow. It was growing dark outside, though she noted that it was not so late as it looked, but merely the effect of the winter nights.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for the feast?” Loki’s smooth voice asked from behind her. She bolted upright, book clutched to her chest. Damn him for being so silent and catlike, she was sure he would give her death by surprise at some point. She speedily arranged herself before standing and turning to face the prince. He stood with his hands behind his back and his head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“Is that your way of asking for me to leave?” She asked her lips curling upwards slyly.

“By no means.” He chuckled, stepping tentatively towards her. “I merely thought that it took a considerable amount of time for a lady to prepare herself.”

“How long does it take a prince?”

“We worry far less about aiming to please.” He remarked with a smirk.

“And who should I have that I need to please?” Natasha frowned, taking a step back. “Are women so terrible that they must spend hours perfecting themselves?”

“That is not what I meant.” Loki replied, looking apologetic and somewhat saddened by how she had moved away. “Forgive me, I have come across as rude, I did not mean to.”

“No, I should not have been so audacious.” Natasha looked at her feet sheepishly. “I should go, I’m sorry.”

She curtsied and turned to leave, but Loki’s long, slender fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her and pulling her back. She turned back to face him, completely bewildered by his actions.

“Do not apologise for your confidence Natasha, it is one of your most admirable qualities, and I should be sad to see it repressed.” He spoke so earnestly, Natasha forgot about the way his hand moved down her wrist and slipped into her hand.

“Thank you.” She murmured, her gaze finding his bright green eyes. The compliment affected her in such a strange way, hitting the base of her stomach with peculiar warmth. It was the same feeling she felt when the butchers boy, Alexei, back in Midgard had told her she was ‘the most amazing girl he knew.’ That little courtship hadn’t lasted long, however, ending in Ivan telling him to ‘scram’ and ‘never speak to Natasha again.’ Perhaps protective was an understatement for him.

Though she was pleased by Loki’s sudden display of kindness, she was also confused. Sif had been insistent that he was a cruel and cunning sort of man. But she could not for the life of her see such traits in the prince that stood before her.

They stood in silence for a short moment, and Natasha was first to pull away, giving another short curtsey and leaving. She thought if she were to stay another minute her heart would lurch right out of her chest.

Loki watched her leave, and when she was out of sight he let go of the breath he had been holding without his intention. She was a marvellous creature, so different from all the other ladies in waiting that his mother paraded around with her. She was clever, witty, intriguing, all traits that seemed to pull him towards her like some sort of magnetism.

He sighed again, remembering her friendship with Sif and wondering what horror stories concerning him she would have filled Natasha’s head with. It was true, he was imperfect, sometimes ruthless and sneaky, but if she believed such rumours, then why did she humour him so, why did she not merely ignore him?

He moved from the position he had been standing in since she had departed, and picked up the book she had left behind. He chuckled to himself as he read the cover, it was one of the tomes he had recommended, so it meant she trusted him, didn’t it? At least to an extent.

Loki placed the book back down and made his leave from the library, not once realising that he had been watched the entirety of his time there.

~X~

At the feast, Natasha and Sif were seated with other ladies in waiting, much to their discontent. The other women had grown to dislike Natasha, muttering rude comments behind her back about how she stole the men’s attention and a wasted her time with silly pastimes such as taking walks and practicing sword fighting with Sif. Indeed, the two of them were not favourites amongst the court, their ideas were seen as pathetic and un-ladylike. So they removed themselves from the tables general conversation, instead making plans for another bout of training.

When the dancing began, Loki stayed in his seat, despite his mother’s insistence that he join in. Instead he decided to watch the crowds move together where he sat. A majority of the time he found his gaze trained on Natasha, watching how she moved so fluently, every twist, every turn was soft and elegant. Once or twice she would look up and meet his gaze before quickly turning away, her face becoming flushed, and Loki would smirk behind his goblet, amused by how someone with such fire could be embarrassed so. It was endearing.

He watched as her smile split into a wide grin, and following the line of her vision he saw his brother leading the Lady Sif to dance. The look of pride and victory in Natasha’s eyes lead him to believe that she had something to do with it. Thor was always one for dancing, but when it came to the Lady Sif he had always drawn away, not out of rudeness or hate, it could easily come across as such, but Loki was wiser than that, Thor drew away out of bashfulness. The eldest prince was smitten, though he would never admit it, and it gave Loki great joy to see that Natasha had been the one to successfully pull him out of his shell. The woman was cunning. Loki liked that.

Now, Loki could understand his brother’s reluctance to join the festivities before. Natasha didn’t intimidate him, but her brazen attitude had affected him one too many times, and he didn’t feel like getting red faced in the middle of a crowded hall. So now it was he who was pulling away, distancing himself from it all.

~X~

Natasha danced to her hearts desire, the wine having gone to her head and warmed her blood. She and Lord Fandral moved together, making an exquisite pair, but all Natasha could focus on was the grin on Sif’s face as Thor led her about the space. She knew Sif had been a little off with her since Thor’s invitation to walk with him earlier that day, she would have never admitted that it was jealousy, hell, she wouldn’t have admitted anything when it came to Thor, but Natasha could see there were feelings there, so a little meddling wouldn’t go amiss, and it didn’t as it seemed.

When the dance ended she curtseyed to Fandral, and with a coy smile he kissed her hand. “Always a pleasure, Lady Romanov.” He winked before disappearing into the crowds.

She was about to return to her table for a moment of rest before she danced again, but just as she began to step away, Ivan stopped her, moving in front of her and blocking her way. She wasn’t completely surprised that he would approach her, but she was a little irked. She had managed to avoid him thus far, she wasn’t really in the mood for more of his lies.

“Natasha.” He greeted her with a nod, much less enthusiastically than the last time they had greeted each other, which was before their dinner the evening prior.

“Ivan.” Natasha curtseyed, it never felt normal to curtsey to her surrogate father, but residing in the palace meant that such formalities were a must.

“After you have tended to her majesty later this evening, I would like for you to meet me in my study, I have a matter to discuss with you, it is of great importance.”

“Of course.” Natasha nodded uncertainly. She wondered if he planned on confessing all that she did not yet know about her past, it would certainly ease her mind and the tension between the two.

Ivan nodded and turned away, without so much as a ‘goodbye’ or ‘see you then.’

Natasha sighed and made her way to the table, she needed to think, to mentally prepare herself for the knowledge she would obtain in Ivan’s study. Did she even  _want_  to know? More than anything, she knew she needed a drink.

~X~

Once again, Natasha found herself with the droll task of picking the pins from the queen’s hair. Why did she insist of wearing so many? It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy speaking with the queen, she was perfectly lovely, but on that certain evening, with the meeting with Ivan looming, something about the task at hand felt dreary, and Natasha was looking forward to it being finished.

She made sure not to rush, however, and kept her composure cool, even as ideas of what Ivan had to tell her swam through her mind. She couldn’t help but imagine the worst. She already knew a considerable amount, but she knew that there was always more to a story, there just needed to be a little digging to be done.

When the queen dismissed her with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, Natasha slowly exited her chambers, but as the door shut behind her she practically bounded down the corridor. She rushed her way to Ivan’s rooms, so that when she knocked on his door, she was almost out of breath.

“Come in, child.” Ivan smiled meekly as he met her in the doorway. He turned and allowed her entrance, checking that the corridor was clear before he closed his door with care. Natasha didn’t miss this. She was about to question his suspiciousness, until she turned to see three more men in the study with them.

All three were consorts to the king and crucial members to the court, Lord Tyr, Lord Fitch and Lord Kvasir. They stood proudly at the end of a table, each man with their hands behind their backs as they surveyed her from a distance.

“What is this?” Natasha asked, turning back to Ivan who gestured for her to sit.

She took a seat at the end of the table, in front of the three noblemen. Ivan took a seat in front of where they stood at the other end of the table, facing Natasha. She frowned at him, this obviously was not about her parents.

“She  _is_  a pretty little thing.” Lord Tyr observed, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinised her.

“And you say that they have become quite close?” Lord Kvasir asked Ivan who nodded in reply. “Then I think she should suffice.”

“Ivan, why have you called me here?” She finally asked. Ivan shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat.

“It has come to our attention that prince Loki and yourself have become rather close.” Ivan stated, rubbing his hands together in the way that he did when he was nervous.

“I wouldn’t say so.” She lied. Her heart began to beat faster as she wondered if she was in some kind of trouble for speaking with him so often.

“Do not deceive me, girl.” Ivan muttered. “I’ve seen the two of you at the banquets, and in the library this afternoon.”

“Am I not allowed to speak with him? Is this why I am being scolded?”

“You are not being scolded.” Fitch chuckled from behind Ivan. “We merely have a proposition for you.”

“More of a demand than a proposition.” Tyr correction, gaining disgruntled glances from his two comrades.

“You see, Natalia.” Ivan began, offering her a more sympathetic look, and from that she could discern that what they were asking of her was of great importance and possibly dangerous. “The king has worries about his youngest son. There are secrets that cannot be known to him, secrets that even we four do not know.” He gestured to himself and the men behind him. “He believes that Loki needs a distraction, something to keep him from wondering too far into the palaces history and discovering things that may very well break him.”

“What are you suggesting?” She asked, already a little sure she knew what he was implying.

“As you have grown close to him, we believe you would be best suited to act as his mistress.” Kvasir answered. His expression placid, even as Natasha’s eyes grew wide and she paled, her jaw going slack. After a small silence, filled with uneasiness, Natasha finally decided to speak up.

“Why me? Why do you wish to sell me off like a common whore?” She questioned, her voice raised and making the other men uncomfortable.

“Natalia, please-” Ivan began, but Natasha cut him off.

“Why not use an actual whore instead, or perhaps you could find the man a wife?” She lurched from her chair, hands gripping to the table with pure seething rage. “Why ruin my reputation because the king is so damn enigmatic about everything?”

“Be careful how you speak, girl.” Tyr growled, but Ivan placated him with a small wave of his hand.

“Natalia, I know that we are asking a lot of you, but know that by doing this you are helping your sovereign, your kingdom. It is a responsibility that I think you may handle far better than anyone else, I trust you, and so does he. That is why we have chosen you for this task, Loki needs someone he can trust, someone he can confide in.” Ivan rested his lips on his knuckles as he waited for her reaction.

“Is that not what a wife does?”

“Loki is betrothed to another, yes, but he needs someone he can care about, more often than not, in the case of a betrothal, the partners do not care for one another, and Loki’s affection towards you is rare in such a man. You will distract him, comfort him, and keep him from his usual mischief.”

“What about me?” She asked, her anger becoming far more apparent. “This will ruin me, how would I ever marry after being tainted by him?”

“Arrangements would be made.” Kvasir told her. “A suitor would be informed of your situation and sworn to secrecy.”

“So I would be forced to give my virtue to one man and my life to another?”

“The house of Odin is overflowing with secrets and lies. It is our duty, as members of the court, to take whatever actions necessary to keep them from surfacing.”

“Think on it.” Fitch interjected. We will give you until tomorrow morning to have come to a decision, but know that your refusal with lead to your loyalty to the court being questioned.”

Fitch, Tyr and Kvasir left, after each giving terse bows, leaving Natasha and Ivan alone. She glared at him from across the table, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

“What would he think of me?” She whispered, her emotions bubbling to the surface after being so long repressed. “He would think me repulsive and cheap.”

“Do not tell me that you have grown to care for the prince?” Ivan asked, alarmed by her words. “You best knock that notion on the head girl. If he truly cared for you in that way, if he respected you at all, he would deny you his bed. It is a universal truth in men, lust will always prevail over love.”

~X~

She lay in her bed, her mind abuzz with the evening’s events. She had spent a great deal of time weeping I her bed, after she had returned from Ivan’s, like a petulant child. Her face was still blotched as she lay there, thinking.

She thought back to the strange feeling in her gut when Loki had spoken so kindly to her that late afternoon in the library. She hit a palm to her forehead irritably, how had she not realised Ivan had been watching. Her observation skills were seriously in need of a tune up. But nevertheless, just recalling the way his hand had slipped into hers, gently and softly, like she was made of glass, it made her lips curl into a reluctant smile. Could it be true that he felt something for her? If he did then she certainly could not feign such infatuation for him, it would only be cruel to use him in such a way.

But then again, when she remembered how he had placed his hands on her hips during their lesson in the library, how his breath, soft and hot, had tickled her neck. A heat pooled between her legs at the memory.

She would lose everything if she consented to their plan, but the heat between her legs and the fluttering in her gut told her otherwise. She would be aiding the kingdom, she would be showing her loyalty, and to do otherwise would not only jeopardise her position at court but Ivan’s also.

She tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep with such thoughts on her mind. It would be near impossible to come to a decision, when one half of her wanted one thing and the other half another.

She threw her blankets off of her and quickly dressed herself. Even if the sun had barley peaked over the horizon, it was never too early to pick herbs for the queen.

~X~

She had almost smiled when she heard the familiar crunch of leaves behind her, and she turned, watching as Loki slowly approached her in that tentative way that he always did, as if he thought she would run away like a wild animal.

“We meet again, Natasha.”

“I wished for you to come.” She admitted.

“I wanted to see you.” He replied, twirling a sprig of lavender that he had already picked between his forefinger and thumb. “In truth, I walked here the morning prior, hoping to come across you then, but you were absent it seemed.”

“Why did you want to see me?” She prodded, intrigued by his display of truthfulness. She had barely been able to get the words out, she was so surprised by his confession.

“You amaze me Natasha.” He whispered, running the pad of his thumb over her lips and his finger hooked under her chin, tilting her head up. She could smell the fresh lavender on his touch, the oil he had pressed from it now coating her lips. “Truly, you have enchanted me, sorceress.”

“I’ve told you, I know little of witchcraft.” She smirked, but she was honestly trying to withhold the inevitable. The way Loki’s gaze flickered to her lips and back to her eyes, she knew what he wanted.

“I think you lied.” He replied, his voice a low murmur. Without another word, he dipped his head low, lips pressing against hers so softly, so briefly, but it was enough to bring up all of Natasha’s strength and leave her weak again. As if by their own accord, her hands snaked their way to the back of his neck, holding him there for more. His hands around her waist kept her steady, but still she felt like she could fall at any moment.

He rested his forehead against hers for a brief moment, before pressing their lips together for a second time and then a third, neither of them able to pull apart from each other.

The trap was set.


	6. Sweet Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I trust you have come here with your decision made.”
> 
> “I have.”
> 
> “And?”
> 
> “I accept.” She said her words quietly, her chest aching slightly as they passed her lips.
> 
> “I am very proud of you, Natasha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow, so I realise it's been a while since I updated, but I guess the holidays completely threw me off, so apologies or the wait. A huge thank you to you lovely reviewers and followers etc. The response to the last chapter was os lovely, you guys are amazing!
> 
> This is kind of a filler chapter, but I tried to make it as interesting as possible, it's kind of the bridge to the next part of the story, when things are gonna get interesting.
> 
> P.S. Be warned, there be smut ahead!

The golden hallways of Asgard were flooded with golden sunlight, and the sound of children’s laughter reverberated against the walls. A young boy, hair raven black and eyes a piercing green, shifts behind a pillar, hearing his brothers footsteps approach.

“Loki?” Thor calls, voice breather from running, and with a slight playful lilt to it. “I know you’re here, you’re not  _that_  good at hiding.”

He wants to protest to his brother’s statement, but can’t risk losing their game. Instead he stifles a chuckle and slips into the shadows.

“Brother, I’m bored, can we not play something else?” The ten year-old moans, stamping his feet stubbornly.

Loki watches as his brother sighs and turns back down the hall, he’s probably given up and resorted to seeking out Fandrall for some entertainment. When his brother has disappeared, the raven-haired prince walks out of the shade and contemplates what to do next. The day had been long, with nothing for the young princes to do but wasted time with basic games.

He makes his way to the library, running with all the enthusiasm a five year old should have. Upon hearing the chatter of his parents, he pauses outside the library doors, presses his head against them and listens in.

“I will, and cannot, agree to this.” A male voice murmurs. The voice is barely audible from the other side of the wooden doors, but Loki could just about hear what they were saying.

“You swore to protect this kingdom, Romanov,” he hears his fathers gruff tone, it’s calm, but even Loki can sense the tension in the room. “This is all I ask.”

“She is not yet five years old, and you want to marry her off with your son.”

“They will be betrothed, Romanov, they shan’t marry until they are of a more suitable age. It is perfectly reasonable; I do not see what qualms you could have about you daughter being a queen.”

“Her mother and I both dislike the idea of tethering her to another so early in her life.” He hears the discomfort in the Romanov man’s tone, and considers leaving his trip to the library for another time.

He turns to leave, but is confronted with a small girl sitting by a pillar beside him. Her knees are tucked under her chin as she watches him with large blue eyes, hidden behind masses of red curls.

“They’re talking about me.” She murmurs. Her gaze drops to the floor bashfully as Loki takes a step towards her.

“You’re Lord Romanovs daughter, aren’t you?”

“My name is Natasha.”

“What are they talking about?”

“Me.” She replies, brows furrowing as she scrutinises him. “I already said that.”

“I meant, why are they talking about you?”

“I don’t know.” She says quietly, tucking her knees close to her chest. “I think I’m in trouble, but I’m not sure.”

He takes a step closer and she shies away again, like the injured animals he would find in the forest with Thor. He sits down in front of her, realising then how much the height difference between them is.

“How old are you?”

“Four.” She smiles, showing the number with her fingers proudly.

“I’m Loki.” He shakes her hand, it’s small in his, almost fragile. “The prince.”

Her eyes widen for a moment, her surprise is cut short when there is a shout from inside the library, and Natasha flinches, bringing her knees closer to her body.

“If this is how you feel, Romanov, then I must question your loyalty to the court, and to the kingdom!”

“Then I think it best for me to leave.”

“Yes, that would be wise.”

The doors are thrown open and a tall man, with blue eyes and tousled brown hair stands above the children. He looks down at Natasha, eyes widening as he realises she’d been there for the entirety of his conversation with the king.

“What are you doing here, Natasha?” He asks, walking over and hoisting her up into his arms. “I told you to stay with your mother.”

He gives Loki a worrisome look and carries Natasha away. She looks over her fathers shoulder, waving at the boy enthusiastically. “Goodbye, Loki the prince.”

He waves back, half wondering what had happened to make her father so concerned, but mostly wondering if he could go into the library yet.

~X~

Loki walked her back to her chamber, his hand on the small of her back the entire time. They made sure that they were seen by no one, and Natasha was grateful that he was careful to not have her reputation ruined. To be seen so affectionate with the prince would only ruin her. But she knew the dangers of what she was doing, and she had done it anyway.

“May I see you later today?” He half whispered as he kissed her hand.

“Of course, my lord.” Loki gives her a look and she chuckled. “Of course, Loki.”

He hated the way she addressed him with such a formal title, as if she were inferior to him. She really didn’t understand just how special she was, especially to him.

“Good night, Natasha.” He smiled, his finger hooked under her chin and tilted her head up to capture her lips. He kiss was soft and gentle, leaving Natasha somewhat lightheaded after he broke away. He gave her one last signature smirk and left, disappearing into the darkness of the hallways.

She sighed and entered her chamber, picking up her book from her nightstand and settling into bed to read for the next few hours until she would go for breakfast with Sif. Despite her head buzzing with thoughts and worry, Natasha actually felt rather peaceful and sated, and after mere minutes, she drifted into a light and gentle slumber.

Though her sleep was neither lengthy nor deep, she dreamt still, of golden hallways, large wooden doors and a young boy with raven black hair, shaking her hand. It felt like a memory, like something she had experienced before, but it did not feel like her own. It felt foreign, old and forgotten.

She awoke to the bright sun in her eyes, and the familiar gentle tap of Sif’s knuckles on her door. She was already dressed, so she just smoothed down her hair before greeting her friend.

“Sleep well?” Sif asked upon the doors opening. Natasha hummed in response, still tired and disorientated. “I thought as much. I’ve been waiting outside your door for ages.”

They walked together to a large room with high ceilings and elegant tapestries lining the walls. A long table ran through the centre of the room, with guests, noble men and other members of the court all sitting around it, piling their plates high with white bread and cold meats.

Natasha and Sif took their seats together by other Ladies in waiting, but not so far away from the other guests that she could not nod and greet Lord Barton as she sat down. She didn’t get to sit for long, as a servant entered and announced the entrance of the prince Loki, and everyone was brought to their feet upon his arrival.

“Gods, what is he doing here?” Sif gasped her eyes narrowing as she watched him entering the room, greeting noblemen with his winning smile. “The royals always eat their breakfasts in their own chambers, or at least privately with each other.”

“He looks happier than usual.” Amora murmured from opposite them.

“Indeed, he looks far less cold and devious.” Freya whispered in return.

Natasha smiled as she listened in to their conversation, feeling rather responsible for the prince’s change in attitude.

Loki took his seat at the head of the table, surrounded by chattering courtiers and a considerable distance from her. The breakfast continued as it had been before Loki’s arrival, save the blabbering noblemen who strived for Loki’s approval. Natasha and Sif conversed together, planning another walk around the grounds later that day and discussing the possibility of another training session.

“We could go right away.” Sif pondered aloud. “When we are done with breakfast.”

“I have something I must do after this.” Natasha informed her, avoiding the subject of the matter. “I am to visit Ivan, but it should not take long.”

“After that perhaps.” She mused. “You may find me in the gallery, and then we may go from there.”

“Perfect.” Natasha smiled.

A serving girl approached her, presenting her with a tray, upon which was a goblet of wine. “Wine for you, my lady?” She asked, her voice quiet and shy.

“Thank you, no.” Natasha replied, hiding her confusion at why the girl was only bringing her the beverage. “I tend not to drink so early.”

The girl hesitated and moved the tray lower so Natasha could see it more clearly. “My lady, it is very fine wine, I think you should try it.”

Natasha frowned and looked to Sif who was deep in a conversation with Eir, completely unaware of the servant’s unusual behaviour. For a moment, Natasha considered the possibility of the wine being poisonous, but as the girl subtly lowered the tray some more, Natasha spotted a small, folded up piece of parchment hidden beneath the goblets base and a quill by its side.

“Yes, of course.” She nodded and smiled, taking the goblet and quickly snatching the letter and quill from the tray before anyone could see.

She waited until the serving girl had left and opened the letter under the table, hiding it on her lap.

_“If the lady would consent, it would be my great honour to accompany her on a tour of the grounds this morning._

_Loki”_

Natasha smiled, having expected the letter to be from Ivan or one of his confidants regarding his plans, she looked up to see Loki, he sat, bored, in his chair, enduring the blasé conversations with his fathers court members, there was no evidence of his enquiries in his appearance whatsoever. His gaze flickered from his plate to her and she quickly looked away.

She dipped the quill in her wine, making sure no on could see, and wrote her reply on the back of the parchment.

_“The prince is too forward, he forgets that the lady has daily duties in which she must attend before she can indulge in leisurely activities.”_

The wine did not make for a good ink substitute, but it did the job. She hailed over the serving girl and slipped the quill and paper onto her tray as she pretended to ask for another goblet of wine.

She watched as the girl circled the room a number of times in order to make the interaction as subtle as possible, and Natasha withheld a small laugh at the way Loki watched the girl, drumming his fingers against the table impatiently. She turned her attentions to him away and back to Sif, easing her way into her conversation with Eir.

It didn’t take long for the prince to reply, the serving girl returned, sliding the letter under Natasha’s plate and leaving.

_“Apologies for being so impertinent._

_Would the lady be so kind as to apprise the king of when she will be done with her duties for the day.”_

She smiled at the letter, it was written with wine, and that told her that the original letter had been written before Loki had come to breakfast, so he had come there for a purpose. She reread the message a few more times, enjoying it’s playfulness. She had to admit, the secrecy of it all was thrilling. She quickly scribbled down her reply, keeping it as coy and aloof as possible so not to seem too eager.

_“With the many duties the prince’s mother devises, it is difficult to determine when one will be free.”_

She doesn’t look at him when he receives the letter, though she wants to, it would be too obvious. The reply does not come as soon as she had expected, and for a moment she wondered if she had offended him in some way, but the serving girl returned, once again slipping the letter and quill down beside her plate and out of view.

The letter is messy this time, with a few sentences scribbled out at the top as if the prince could not make up his mind about how to reply, but there is a curt sentence at the bottom, it is different to the others, less formal, less playful, and more desperate.

_“Then when can I see you?”_

She couldn’t hold back the grin that formed on her lips at the desperation laced in his words, and she looked up to see him staring back at her, unabashed by how indiscreet he was.

_“Noon, by the lavender and camomile.”_

~X~

After excusing herself from Sif and Eir’s company, Natasha made her way to Ivan’s quarters. He answered his door promptly after she’s finished knocking, and hastily ushered her inside. Fitch, Tyr and Kvasir were not there, which settled her nerves a little.

“Sit down, my child.” Ivan smiled, shuffling to his seat beside the hearth. She took a seat on a large armchair beside the fire, watching as Ivan poured her a glass of wine. She noted how out of breath he was, just from answering the door, and it was the first time she’s really took into account just how old he was. “I trust you have come here with your decision made.”

“I have.”

“And?”

“I accept.” She said her words quietly, her chest aching slightly as they passed her lips.

“I am very proud of you, Natasha.” Ivan replied, handing her a goblet of wine. She hated drinking so early, especially the Asgardian wine, but she supposed she needed the drink after what she’d gotten herself into. “We must begin planning your strategy immediately.”

He looked far too excited over it all, and Natasha gulped her wine, wishing for it to numb her anxiety. Ivan started rambling on about ways in which to approach the matter, but they were all useless after her meeting with the prince than morning.

“He kissed me.” She interjected, causing Ivan to freeze in his seat. “I saw him early this morning, and he kissed me. He has asked to see me later to day, and I have accepted.”

“Very good, very good!” Ivan praised, grinning from ear to ear. “This is perfect, it’s all falling into place exactly as we need it to- Oh, you  _mustn’t_ seem to eager, make yourself difficult to obtain, it will only drive his desire. The fun is always in the chase.”

“And once I have been ‘obtained’?”

“You will continue to… pleasure him, until you are no longer needed.”

“Very well.” She murmured, sipping more wine. She was going to need it. “How long should I make him wait?”

“Not too long, else he’ll grow tired of you.” Ivan deliberated, staring into the fire as he considered. “Seeing as you and the prince have been close for some time, perhaps you may give him what he want when he asks for you, which should not be too far off, especially as he has required your presence for this afternoon.”

“What do you mean?”

“He will make you an offer soon, and when he does, do not be too eager, nor too apathetic.”

~X~

She left Ivan’s quarters not long after, and he departed from her with an embrace and a wish of good luck. Natasha then made her way to the gallery, where she sat with Amora in silence as they worked on their needlework.

“What were you scribbling away at breakfast?” Amora inquired, breaking the silence.

“Oh, that.” Natasha felt her heartbeat quicken, and wondered if Amora had seen any of the conversation. “Just some correspondence with my guardian, Ivan.”

“Ivan wasn’t there this morning.” Amora grinned deviously, setting down her needlework and focusing her attentions of Natasha. “I know who it was you were writing to.”

“And who would that be?” Natasha tried to keep her fear hidden. There would not be much of a consequence if she found out about a few meaningless letters, but it would make Natasha’s mission a little more difficult.

“Lord Barton.” Amora smirked proudly. “I saw how you spoke with him at the hunt,  _and_  at the feasts.”

“You’ve caught me.” Natasha lied smoothly, allowing her cheeks to redden slightly to throw Amora off course completely.

“Look at you, you’re smitten.” The golden haired lady chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your little admiration a secret, but you must remember that he will leave for Midgard in a few days time. So you best hurry and snatch him up before he leaves you forever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Yes, you better stop wasting your time with swordplay and walking around the fields like some common farmers wife, and start presenting yourself as more of a lady. I would be happy to help you with such things, helping people find true love has always been an interest of mine.”

“Thank you.” Natasha smiled despite the fact that she would have no peace from the woman now that she felt she was included in her affairs.

She spent a few hours reading, occasionally looking out the window to see the sun moving higher into the sky and urging it to move faster so that she could go and meet Loki. Sif joined her after a while, and the both of them decided to go to the training grounds, ignoring the disapproving look from Amora.

“There is not much to do these days.” Natasha observed as they walked down the halls.

“I know, it is because the guests are slowly leaving and so the palace grows less busy.” Sif mused. “We will be returning to the way it once was before, peaceful.”

“Thank the gods.”

After a silence, Sif spoke up again. “What was Amora speaking to you about earlier?”

“She thinks I am in love with Lord Barton.” Natasha laughed, and Sif’s lips curled in amusement.

“Oh, that woman!” Sif laughed. “She cannot stay out of other peoples business, and always has to conspire some plan to bring people together. She fancies herself quite the matchmaker.”

“Has she ever tried to meddle with your affairs?”

“She’s scolded me for just  _looking_  at prince Thor, thinking that I held some sort of infatuation to him, it was utterly ridiculous.”

“Was it?” Natasha asked, cocking her eyebrow questioningly. Sif frowned at her, her mouth parted in an offended manner. “I’m just saying, you and Thor do seem rather… fond of each other.”

“We have known each other since childhood!” Sif proclaimed, throwing her hands up like the subject was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

“No, it’s more than that and you know it. The two of you are smitten, but you both will not admit it.”

“The both of us?” Sif stopped in her tracks waiting for Natasha to elaborate.

“You don’t see it?” Natasha asked, surprised. “The man turns to an enamoured little girl the moment he lays eyes on you!”

“You’re mocking me.” Sif growled, her eyes narrowing in frustration.

“I’m not mocking you, Sif. The next time you see him, just watch, and you’ll notice how different he is around you.” Sif relaxed a little at Natasha’s words, but still looked rather unsure. “I’m afraid we will have to visit the training grounds some other time, it seems I must I have a duty that I must attend.”

“You said you were free for the rest of the day.”

“It is just this one thing, and then I may be able to meet you for a walk.” She assured her friend, who looked a little disappointed.

“I’ll probably be in the gallery, gods know that’s the only place other than my room where I can get any peace, if Amora’s not there any way.”

Natasha smiled and left her. Watching as the sun shone at its peak in the sky, as she made her way to the gardens.

~X~

He was sitting beneath the apple tree, his back resting against the trunk and his legs crossed at the ankles. His attention was focused solely on the book in his hands, his brow’s knit together as he read, and loose, wavy strands of black hair falling over his face. She approached him slowly from the side, not wanting to disturb him, mainly for her sake, for she found that the sight of him so deep in concentration was considerably charming.

She paused as he looked up at the sun, he sighed and looked back down at his book and Natasha let a smile ease it’s way up her lips. He was evidently desperate to see her, and she wouldn’t keep him waiting for too long.

“I do hope you haven’t been waiting too long, my lord.” She called to him as she sauntered over.

He lurched to his feet at the sight of her, dropping his book ungraciously in the process. He flashed her a crooked smile, seemingly unhindered by his clumsy greeting.

“Every minute has been torture.” Loki closed the distance between them and cupped her face in his hand. “For a moment I thought my mother had stolen you away for more tasks, or that you had forgotten about me.”

“I could not forget about you, Loki.” Their lips met in another gentle kiss, and Loki rested his forehead against hers. “Now, I believe you wished to give me a tour of the grounds.”

“Right… yes.” He chuckled as he pulled away. “I didn’t actually plan a tour, it was merely an excuse to see you.”

“So then what do you propose we do?” She smiled, enjoying seeing him so flustered.

Loki paused for a moment, thinking it over. “I have an Idea.” He reached for her wrist and pulled her away. “Come with me.”

“Do I have a choice?” She laughed, letting him pull her speedily to his destination.

Loki broke into a run, slipping his hand from her wrist and into her hand and pulling her to run at his side. Natasha had to check behind her to see if they were being chased, but it seemed they were running for no reason at all. Loki was grinning from ear to ear with a certain boyish charm that she had not seen on him before, and her heart fluttered at the sight.

He lead her to a small clearing just outside of the palace grounds, under a canopy of tree’s where the sunlight crept through the branches, giving the place a dim and warm ambience. The tree’s seemed to lean together, their branches intertwining to create a large archway. It was beautiful. The place felt so detached from the rest of the kingdom, like they were hundreds of miles away from the hustle and bustle.

They stopped in the centre of the clearing, Natasha catching her breath as Loki looked around, a hint of sentiment on his smile.

“Sorry for the rush.” Loki looked back at her apologetically. “I don’t know how long we have together, so I didn’t want to waste a minute.”

“It’s fine.” She smiled, looking up at the trees and taking in their surroundings. “Where are we?”

“You like it?” Loki asked, gesturing around him.

“It’s beautiful.”

“My brother and I used to play here when we were boys. One would hide behind the trees whilst the other would seek him out, on rainy days we would have to make do with the pillars in the palace halls.” Loki hummed in amusement at the memory, his gaze dropping to the floor. “We would come here more often than not.”

“But no longer?”

“No, we are older now, and so now this place is forgotten. A mere home for decaying memories.” Loki sighed, his eyes still watching the grass at his feet. “Memories from when I was a better man, a happier one.”

Natasha couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable, why would the prince bring her to a place that brought back past grievances?

“Do you think you could be that man again?” She inquired, her voice the only thing to be heard, save for the distant chirping of the birds in the tree’s and the gentle wind. “A happier man?”

“Yes, I think I could be a happier man. With help.” He replied, pointedly looking at her. She had to wonder if he knew of the king’s plans for her to distract him. Was that why she was asked to do it? To make him happier? To distract him from his own thoughts? And she had to wonder also,  _if_  she could do it. Would her companionship be enough?

He carefully stepped towards her, his hand tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She noticed how his gaze flickered to her lips, the want in his eyes. He leant into to kiss her again, but she ducked out of the way and stepped back. He stumbled forward slightly, out of balance and confused, and looked up at her, frowning in bewilderment.

She shifted on her feet, thinking of a way to make light of the awkward situation. “You want me? Come and claim me.” And without thinking, she dashed from the spot.

Loki followed without hesitation, his confusion quickly replaced with excitement and amusement. She was so different from the many other women who had enticed him throughout the years. They had been like deer, the hunt had been easy and the kill only slightly satisfactory, but Natasha, she was like a firefly, so beautiful, so rare, slipping through ones fingers when they tried to catch her. He knew that with her, the kill would be just as thrilling as the chase.

He caught up with her, hidden behind a tree, breathless and watching him with a feral grin that made his knee’s feel weak.

“Enough of this torture, Natasha.” He groaned, resting his hand on the tree beside her and trapping her in place. “I  _must_  have you.”

Her grin faltered and she stiffened where she stood. Ivan’s words rang out in her head.

_“If he truly cared for you in that way, if he respected you at all, he would deny you his bed”_

Loki didn’t care for her it seemed, and she was a fool to think differently. She was nothing more than a past time, a toy for him to entertain himself with, distract himself. She would never be the one to make him happier, better, no matter how much she wished she could be.

_“It is a universal truth in men, lust will always prevail over love.”_

“You must?”

“I cannot wait any longer.” He purred, breath hot in her ear and making a pleasurable shiver run down her spine.

“Okay.” She replied, her voice frail and small.

She felt him grin beside her cheek, his lips brushing over her skin. “Tonight, after you have aided my mother for sleep, come to my chamber. Do not waste a minute.”

She nodded, and he captured her lips in another kiss. Loki stepped away, kissed her hand and left, leaving her weak at the knees and close to tears.


	7. Don't Be Afraid of What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha moved forward in her chair, leaning closer to Ivan. “What is it that the king so desperately wishes to keep from his son?”
> 
> “Nothing of importance.” Ivan replied sharply. Natasha laughed at that, leaning back into her chair and glaring at the man across from her.
> 
> “I don’t believe that.” She sneered. “If it were not important, then why would the king go to such great lengths to cover it up?”
> 
> “Nothing of importance to you. In fact, the less you know, the better. We can’t risk you telling the prince anything he shouldn’t know.”
> 
> “What happens when he does find out?”
> 
> “He won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry again for the late post!! I've been trying to find time to write, but i've just been SO busy! Anyways, this chapter was extremely difficult to write, but I'm rather pleased with the outcome. If you're not comfortable with smut, then I would suggest skipping the last scene, where Natasha goes to Loki's chambers.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! And I promise that I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as possible! :) xxx

She’d been quiet all day, her mind busy with her imagination running amok. She just kept running possibilities around in her head, scenarios of what was to come. Sif had picked up on Natasha’s anxiety, but had chosen to steer clear of the subject and tried to distract her altogether.

They went for a long walk around the grounds, Natasha was mostly silent, relishing in the peacefulness of the outdoors. It was safe to say that the silence made Sif uncomfortable, and she wished she could help Natasha with whatever was going on in her mind, but the woman was extraordinarily secretive about everything, there was no way into her head, unless it were cracked open with a rock, and Sif wished to avoid such a method as that.

Natasha, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind the prospect of a blow to the head, perhaps it would numb her mind enough to eradicate a few of her more vexing thoughts. A few times she contemplated the idea of purposely falling down, so she could be given the rest of the day to rest and avoid the looming encounter with the prince until a later date. Who knows, perhaps he would be kind, come sit at her bedside and wish her well again. But, as it was, Natasha was entirely unharmed, comprehensively healthy and well, much to her displeasure.

She hadn’t seen Loki since the day prior, when he had begged for her, actually begged. She supposed she should feel flattered by his requests, that the prince of Asgard found her attractive enough and compelling enough to share his bed. But she was no pleasure house girl, she had always regarded herself as a respectable young lady, and it seemed she would no longer be able to regard herself as such.

No one would know, of course, except for a few. Fitch, Tyr and Kvasir had all been informed of the movement in their plan, and Natasha had thus far been rewarded with knowing looks and subtle pats on the back. She didn’t know if Odin yet knew of the plan, and Natasha had to wonder if he could at all feel proud of himself. Some secrets are important to keep hidden, but to fool your son in such a way, it seemed the cruellest method to use. Loki was a proud man, should he find out that Natasha had only accepted him under orders… the outcome was unthinkable. He would assume the worst of course; he presumably would never assume that Natasha actually felt something towards him. That she cared for him. It was a useless plan. The prince was clever, he was perceptive, and when he would eventually discover the truth, the king’s plan would dissolve unto lies, upon lies, upon lies.

So she had to wonder  _why_  she was taking part. If she knew so well, just how flawed and cruel Odin’s plan was, why would she give it any time of day? The answer lay in the feeling she received in her chest when she was around him. The soft fluttering, like there were small birds inside of her, urging to be set free. The way her legs felt as weak as twigs if he looked at her a certain way. Such peculiar feelings they were, yet so pleasurable, comforting and addictive. Though a large portion of her mind seized up with fear at the prospect of what was to come that evening, somewhere inside of her she felt almost intrigued, and dare she say it, excited.

They returned to the palace, after silently agreeing that it was time to go back. The day had been lazy, slow and boring. The sun beat down upon the kingdom, and the townspeople took refuge in taverns or the pleasure houses instead of working on the land. The courtyard was quiet, save for the clacking of their shoes as they walked back.

Sif let out a long, dreary sigh and stopped. Natasha almost didn’t notice, and continued walking until Sif spoke up.

“You’ve been distant and reserved all day.” She stated, her expression was one of annoyance. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Not at all.” Natasha muttered, not exactly finding the energy to speak more boldly.

“Then what is it? I thought we could confide in one another, but you’re always so secretive.”

“I’m just tired, that is all.”

“No it’s not.” Sif frowned, proceeding to walk up the steps towards the entrance, having had enough of their conversation. Gods know she had tried to coax some sort of conversation out of Natasha, but the lady was far too withdrawn, and Sif had had enough.

“I’m just a little homesick, I suppose.” Natasha called after her friend. “And you can always confide in me, Sif.”

“But you cannot confide in  _me_?”

“Of course I can, and I will.” Natasha smiled apologetically, stepping closer to Sif so she didn’t have to crane her neck to speak with her. “Be patient.”

“I only want to know what bothers you, so that I may help. I feel useless, just watching you worry and never knowing what for.” Natasha smiled even wider, a feeling of pure elation washed over her. She had never had a friend such as Sif, she was loyal, kind and truthful, and probably one of the most genuine members of the court that Natasha had met thus far. “Why are you smiling? I’m angry at you, stop smiling.”

“Thank you, Sif.” Natasha laughed, and pulled her friend in for an embrace. Sif stayed rigid in her grasp for a moment, too confused to respond appropriately, but she soon relaxed and embraced Natasha in return.

 

~X~

It didn’t surprise Natasha much that Ivan had not ceased his smiling since she told him of Loki’s request. He had ushered her into his chambers, sat her down in his most comfortable chair and rewarded her with a goblet of wine.

“So, what did he say?”

“Really, Ivan, I would rather not dwell on it.” She muttered, lifting her goblet to her lips to take a sip.

“I must know the details.” He declared sternly, giving her a look that told her to cooperate. “It is not for my amusement, but when the king asks, he must know exactly what transpired between the two of you.”

“Why?” Natasha questioned, her expression one of bemusement. “Surely all he has to know is that his son is sated and distracted.”

“You still don’t get it.” Ivan sighed, rubbing his large hand over his face exasperatedly. “He must know to what extent his son is distracted. To know that there is no possibility that his son will tire of you, it would give him great peace of mind.”

Natasha moved forward in her chair, leaning closer to Ivan. “What is it that the king so desperately wishes to keep from his son?”

“Nothing of importance.” Ivan replied sharply. Natasha laughed at that, leaning back into her chair and glaring at the man across from her.

“I don’t believe that.” She sneered. “If it were not important, then why would the king go to such great lengths to cover it up?”

“Nothing of importance to  _you_. In fact, the less you know, the better. We can’t risk you telling the prince anything he shouldn’t know.”

“What happens when he does find out?”

“He won’t.” Ivan drawled, his rising temper was visible by the way his body tensed. She knew the signs of his anger, all too well, and whenever she detected its flares, she would always be quick to silence herself, lest she be faced with the consequences, but this time she wasn’t backing down. She sat up straight, glaring at him defiantly. “I thought you had agreed to help us, that you were on the kings side.”

“I am on no ones side, but yes, I will help. It doesn’t mean that the kings plans won’t fail.”

“You really have grown in these past few days, Natasha.” Ivan mused. “You are no longer the feeble young woman you once were.”

“I was never a feeble young woman.” She snapped. Her knuckles going white where she held her goblet. “Perhaps I am only just recognising you for who you really are.”

“And what is that?” The man asked, as he gripped the arms of his chair, his fingers digging into the leather. A few days ago, Natasha would have noticed his anger reaching it’s peak and she would have fled, maybe she had been feeble, at least that was what it felt like compared with how she felt now, stronger.

She calmly placed her goblet onto the small side table between them, and stood, towering over the man she had once looked upon with great admiration.

“You are a foolish old man, all you care about is power and nothing else. You will do anything, degrade yourself just for a drop of authority. I marvel at how my parents thought you capable enough to raise a young woman.”

“Clearly I didn’t, clearly I raised a savage, ungrateful, little girl!” Ivan stood, his wide belly knocking over the side table, smashing goblets and plates in the process. Wine spilled into puddles on the stone floor, staining the bottom of Natasha’s gown with deep red.

Natasha gave Ivan one last withering look before heading for the door, she knew it was best to leave, seething as she was, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her anger make her the savage that he supposedly thought her to be.

“Is that it, then?” Ivan called after her before she could leave the room. “You will give up on your kingdom, and you will not help?”

“I never said that.” She replied slowly, using all her control to keep herself from shouting. They didn’t want the wrong person to hear their conversation. “Unfortunately, the prince has already made his request, it is too late to refuse him. But I’m not doing it for you, or the king. I’m doing it for Loki, so that whatever his father is keeping from his will never hurt him. I should know the pain that lies may cause, I’ve dealt with it myself.”

~X~

Loki kept his distance from Natasha at the feast that evening, he felt it would be best to give her space, seeing as there would be little of it later that evening. But he still watched her, the way she moved through the crowds of guests as if they were all her lesser. They were, but she didn’t know that. To Loki, Natasha was the most important woman in the room. He ignored how the nearby maidens glanced at him with hooded eyes and sultry gazes, it was only she that he wanted.

Never had anything like this happened to him, never had lust gripped him so tightly and caused every other one of his thoughts to fade into meaningless blurs. She had crept up on him, surprised him in a way that he never thought possible. Loki had been with many women before, but the mere thought of her in his bed was enough to drive him crazy.

He recalled the words of his father, when Loki and his brother were mere boys. They had been hunting, Odin had knelt down beside their kill, feeling for a pulse before looking back up at his sons.

“The best fun is always in the hunt, but we must make sure that we may entertain ourselves as much as we can afterwards.” He had said, gesturing for the servants to carry the animal away. “That is why the animal will be served at the feast tonight, so it may give us fulfilment, even when it is dead.”

Loki had no plans on killing Natasha, of course, but he knew that even after that evening, he could never grow tired of having her in his bed, or by his side.

She was much more than just some tavern girl, or a whore in a pleasure house, she was Natasha Romanov, the woman who perplexed him upon their first meeting. He had always considered his mothers ladies in waiting to be selfish and vain, so it had been very surprising for him to discover that Natasha was none of those things, and in fact he regarded her as one of the most intelligent women at court.

He sipped his wine, watching her dance with Lord Rogers, and desperately trying to fight the impatience that was building inside of him.

~X~

“I shall be grieved to see you leave, Lord Banner.” Amora told the dark haired man, accepting one of the drinks that he offered to her and Natasha. “Will the rest of your party be leaving for York with you?”

“I should think so.” Banner answered quietly. Natasha had always appreciated that Lord Bruce Banner had certain gentleness about him. He was not vulgar, like so many men she had encountered, and her seemed to steer clear of the pleasure houses that his companions seemed to visit most nights. He was a gentleman, although, so were many of Thor’s guests. “However, I should think that Barton may not be returning with us, is that not right?”

He turned to Clint Barton, who approached the three of them after having danced twice with Freya. He smiled, looking rather exhausted, and only just realising that Banner had been addressing him.

“I do hope my friend has not been boring you, ladies.” He grinned.

“Lord Banner, here, was just informing us that you might not be returning to York.” Natasha chuckled. She took a sip of her wine, and her gaze moved to were Loki sat, watching her from his table. She swallowed thickly and returned her focus to the blonde beside her.

“Ah, yes, I have business to attend to in the south, Midgard to be exact. King Fury has asked for my presence.”

“Natasha grew up in Midgard.” Amora interjected, sending Natasha a barely subtle wink. “Perhaps your presence there shall give her a reason to return.”

Natasha felt her face go hot, and her gaze found the floor. Amora was not subtle at all, and how she managed to find herself with the reputation of a ‘matchmaker’ was beyond Natasha completely.

“I should hope so.” Clint grinned at her. “Though, my business with Fury should be short, and I have planned on making my return here on my journey back to York.”

“We shall eagerly await your return.” Amora replied, smiling with her usual charm. She turned her attention to Natasha, giving her an excited look, and it was all Natasha could do not to roll her eyes and sigh.

~X~

Frigga kept quiet that evening, as Natasha carefully plaited her hair. The red head looked to the mirror in which Frigga sat before, finding the queen glancing at her with a saddened expression. She would look away quickly afterwards, glancing at her nails as if nothing was wrong. After several of such encounters having passed, Natasha thought it appropriate to confront her queen.

“Your grace, is something the matter?”

Frigga paused, and looked up at Natasha with a gentle smile. “Not at all my dear, I am perfectly well.”

“You seem troubled.”

“It is nothing.”

“I didn’t see you at the festivities this evening.” Natasha added, resorting to coaxing whatever was vexing the queen out of her.

“Yes, I was not in the mood for such things.” Frigga frowned at her feet, and it became obvious that she was avoiding Natasha’s gaze.

“My lady.” Natasha sighed, moving to kneel at Frigga’s side. “I have often been told that it unwise to sleep on a bad temper. Whatever it is that troubles you, you can tell me.”

Frigga sighed, looking down at Natasha and cupped her face with her hand. “Oh, my child.” She breathed sadly. “You would not want to hear what is on my mind.”

“If it were to help you, then I wouldn’t mind.”

“You are so young, Natasha. So innocent.” The queen stroked her thumb over Natasha’s cheek lovingly, and in turn, Natasha leant into the touch. Though she had not spent much time in Asgard, and beside the queen, she had grown to love her with every moment she spent preparing her for bed, or reading with her in the afternoons. She wondered if that was what it was like to have a mother, someone who cared for you, who loved you for who you were.

“My lady, I beg you. Pass some of your grievances over to me, relieve yourself of your worries. Sometimes talking about it may make it better.”

Frigga sighed and fiddled with the lace on her robe before looking Natasha in the eyes with a look of sadness and guilt. “I had always wished for the families of Romanov and Odinson to join together, but not like this.”

Natasha stared back at her queen, her lips parted and her eyes wide. Whatever she planned to say in response seemed to catch in her throat, and all thoughts escaped her.

_‘She knows.’_

“Look at you.” Frigga said finally, her voice breaking. “You hardly know what to think, how frightened you must be.”

“I am not frightened.” Natasha managed to respond, her words coming out a little more defensively that she intended. “I know what I must do is for the realm.”

“For the realm.” Frigga repeated, chuckling mirthlessly at the words and shaking her head. “I think not.” She paused, looking at her reflection in the mirror sadly before looking back at Natasha. “That is all for this evening, Natasha. You may leave.”

“My lady, I-”

“Please.” Frigga interrupted, her eyes glazed over with what seemed like tears, but Natasha did not get enough of a chance to find out. Frigga turned away on her chair, and Natasha stood. “I will not hear of this any more, leave, Natasha.”

“Goodnight, Your grace.” She said quietly, curtsying and heading for the door. She heard a sniff from behind her and a quiet rustling as the queen stood. Her heart ached as she closed the doors behind her, she felt mortified that the queen knew, how she must despise Natasha for deceiving her son, how she must have lost so much respect for her.

She wiped away the beginnings of tears from her eyes, shaking her head as if to shake the thoughts out of it. She knew she had to get used to such things, for the queens respect for her was only the first of many things that she would lose whilst she went through with the king’s plan.

~X~

Loki answered the door to his chambers himself, a relieved smile stretching across his lips. “You’re later than I expected.” Natasha looked around the halls cautiously, fearing that someone would see them. She had dressed in a dark red cloak, the hood draped over her head so to hide her features from passers by. She looked back at Loki, who was still smiling at her, and pointedly looked over his shoulder and into his chambers. Confusion flashed over his features, ever so briefly, before he took her hand and pulled her inside. “Apologies, I hope no one saw you.”

“I made sure that they didn’t.” Natasha smiled, removing her hood.

She looked away from the prince and around his rooms instead. They were stood in a small entryway, with a small table, upon which was a vase of flowers. Natasha smiled as she noticed sprigs of lavender within them. There were large archways either side of the entryway, one leading to what looked like a study, and the other to a larger room, and Natasha presumed it was the bedroom.

Loki took her hand again and led her into the bedroom. It was not quite so extravagant as his mother’s room, it wasn’t a woman’s room, a queen’s room, but a princes. The room was laden with rich greens, and gold’s. In the corner, by the window, there is a table, upon which are platters of rich, Asgardian delicacies, and jugs of wine. The bed, a colossal thing with four posters, was draped in green silk, and surrounded by candles. She gave him a look, and Loki smiled modestly. “You were late, I had a lot of time on my hands.” He explained, and Natasha stifled a laugh.

“It’s beautiful.” She grinned, and all at once she felt as though her uncertainty about the whole event was slipping away, her nerves melting from the flames of the candles. Surely, if he put so much effort into making his chambers looking so beautiful, he must feel something towards her.

“Here.” He reached out and took her cloak, sliding it gently off her shoulders. “Wine?”

“No, thank you.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m rather sated from the feast.”

“Of course.” Loki chuckled as he placed her cloak on a chair by the side of the room and slowly walked back to her. “Was my mother well when you saw her?”

Natasha paused, not knowing how to answer his question. Frigga had not seemed well at all, but surely telling Loki such a thing would dampen the mood, and Natasha was just starting to enjoy herself.

“She was tired, but yes, she seemed well.” She stepped closer to him, her neck craning to keep her gaze on his eyes, which were strangely beautiful in the candlelight. “Did you invite me here to talk about your mother?” She asks, her voice changing to a low and sultry tone she never knew she had.

“Of course not.” Loki grinned charmingly, moving a hand to cup the side of her face as he leant down to meet his lips to hers. What started out as a soft gentle kiss quickly turned libidinous and hot. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire in the stone hearth, and their heavy breathing against ones skin.

With nimble fingers, Loki managed to undo the laces of her corset, she had hardly realised what he was doing until the corset was lying by her feet. The prince pressed kisses to her neck, working his way down to her shoulders where he slid off her dress, biting at her soft skin and evoking a soft, sweet moan to escape her.

She was completely bare skinned, standing in a puddle of clothes in front of the prince of Asgard. Her heart was pounding against her chest, her breathing ragged and pupils blown wide. It had all been leading up to that moment, every second that they had spend in each other’s company, and this was it.

Loki looked down at her, eyes lidded as he slowly licked his lips, reddened they were from their kisses. “Bed.” He managed to croak out, and he watched as she gracefully moved to the bed, hips swaying seductively on their own accord. She had to know what she was doing to him, what she had been doing to him since they had first laid eyes on each other.

He stepped slowly towards where she sat on his bed, removing his clothes and letting them fall into a pile on his floor. Natasha simply watched as he crawled over her, slowly, sensuously, kissing every part of her skin he could gain access to. His hands palmed her breasts as hers raked through his black locks. He moaned as she tugged on his hairs, teeth biting down on her nipple and her back arched involuntarily against him.

She could feel his cock, hard and rubbing against the inside of her thigh, the feeling sent warmth down to her core, a steady pulse, thrumming with need.

“Loki.” She moaned, the feeling of him sucking on her tender flesh was enough to rid her of any rational thought. “I need you.”

He hummed against her skin, lithe fingers trailing down to her core. He slipped one finger into her, his thumb massaging her clit, and Natasha let out a soft whine of pleasure.

His lips trailed down to where his fingers slipped out of her, his tongue moving to where they had once been. Natasha slid her fingers through his hair, holding him where he was and wishing for him never to stop. Her hips bucked, and she let out a long cry of ecstasy as she came to her climax. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing ragged, she bit down on her fist to ensure she made no more sound, lest someone discover them.

“Don’t worry.” Loki purred, crawling closer to her, his lips forming a devilish smirk and slick with her arousal. “It’s not unusual to hear such noises coming from my chambers.”

He paused, thinking it was probably not the best thing to say to her, but instead of reacting the way he had expected, she looped an arm around his neck to pull his lips to hers in a lascivious kiss. “I’m not surprised.” She whispered against his lips, tasting herself on his tongue. She pushed his side, rolling him onto his back and her on top of him. He watched her with wide eyes as she slowly sunk down onto his cock, and he bit his lip to stifle a cry of pleasure, she felt so perfect around him, better than anything he had ever experienced.

Natasha let out a coarse cry of both pain and pleasure as Loki slowly entered her, stretching her out, and she slowly rocked her hips back and forth, her hands resting on Loki’s chest for balance. The feel of him was sending shocks through her body, her knee’s feeling weak. As if sensing this, Loki speedily flipped her over onto her back, lifting her thighs to curl around his waist as he positioned himself in front of her entrance once more. He slammed into her, his thrusts deep and quick in carnal desire.  Natasha moaned in rapture as Loki licked and sucked at the tender skin of her neck, and holding her arms above her head so tightly, she was sure they would bruise.

The more he would thrust into her, the more Natasha’s pleasure built, stronger and stronger, such a new and unusual sensation, yet possibly the most exhilarating thing she had ever felt. Loki’s thumb worked tirelessly against her clit as he thrust into her again and again. It was too much, and soon the pleasure of it all seemed to overwhelm her, she tightened around him, and cried out, stars forming behind her eyelids as she screamed in euphoria. Loki soon followed suit, crying out her name as he spilled inside of her, and the two of them were left holding one another, slick with sweat and panting.

“My Natasha.” He hummed, wiping a few strands of hair away from her face as he hovered over her. “Mine.”

He fell back down to the bed beside her, a strong arm looping around her waist and pulling her flush against him. She nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck and entwined her legs with his.

Despite the gentle tickling of Loki’s breath against her skin, Natasha fell into one of the most peaceful slumbers she had had since her arrival at the kingdom of Asgard.


	8. Rise To The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki reached up his hand and stroked the back of his index finger against her cheek; it was a feather light touch, so gentle, as if he feared she would break under his caress. She noted the apologetic look on his features with some confusion, had he any regret for what they had done?
> 
> “Did it hurt?” He inquired, his voice soft. Natasha smiled, his concern was endearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the delay in posting, AGAIN! I got some bad news on Friday, and kind of lost my motivation for writing and other things, so I apologise if you've been waiting. The next few weeks are going to be pretty busy for me, what with auditions, overtime, and other things, so I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon as I can (I realise I said that last time, and look where we are...) but I can't promise it will be that soon. I'm sorry!!
> 
> But I hope you enjoy this chapter! Blood sweat and tears went into writing this thing...
> 
> xxx

~X~

Natasha woke slowly, her eyes fluttering open and being greeted by a pair of shining green irises. Loki smiled softly, his arm was wrapped possessively around her waist, clutching her tight against his chest, and his forehead rested against hers. Natasha hummed in contentment, shifting closer to the prince beside her.

Loki reached up his hand and stroked the back of his index finger against her cheek; it was a feather light touch, so gentle, as if he feared she would break under his caress. She noted the apologetic look on his features with some confusion, had he any regret for what they had done?

“Did it hurt?” He inquired, his voice soft. Natasha smiled, his concern was endearing.

“Do not think on it.” Natasha replied. She cupped his face in her hands, brushing stray hairs from his eyes. “It is not important.”

“Of course it is.” Loki countered, his brows furrowed together in bewilderment. “Oh, Natasha, you are so kind, you rarely think of yourself before anyone else.”

“It was… very pleasurable.” She answered, chuckling somewhat at the awkwardness of their conversation. “I would prefer to remember that, rather than the pain.”

Loki grinned, pulling her closer and planting a deep kiss on her lips. “I have called for a bath to be prepared, and breakfast to be brought up for us.”

“You needn’t trouble your servants.”

“It is no trouble.” Loki laughed, pressing another kiss to her neck, the feeling was so sensual, Natasha had difficulty comprehending his words. “I requested this of them last night in advance, a bath should help alleviate the pain.”

“Then I insist they do not trouble themselves with breakfast.” Natasha said seriously, pushing Loki away from her slightly so to look into is eyes. “I am capable of dining in the hall with everyone else.”

Loki laughed and Natasha gazed back at him, abashed. “If you can walk down to breakfast, then go as you please.”

“What do you mean?”

“Try and walk.”

Natasha glared at him, pulling the silk sheets with her as she rose from the bed and prepared to stand. The stone floor was cold beneath the soles of her feet, and she hesitated before putting all of her weight on them. She glanced at the prince behind her who nodded encouragingly, and stood. Her knee’s wobbled, but she managed to keep upright, and she gave Loki a boastful look over her shoulder.

“Hmm, much better than expected.” Loki mused, a sly grin dancing on his lips. “Perhaps I didn’t do it properly. “ he chuckled and rose from the bed, uncovered and unashamed by his bareness. He walked slowly over to her, prowling around the bed like a predator.

“Oh really?” Natasha smirked, appreciating his form as he approached her, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him.

“Indeed.” He muttered, feigning seriousness. “In fact, we may have to do it again, and again, and again.” He drawled, pressing his lips against her collarbone with each pause.

His lips crashed against hers in a libidinous frenzy, his hand’s crawling over her skin, clutching her tightly in everyplace he touched. Natasha yielded to his touch, her own hands losing their grip on the green silk sheets around her, and letting them fall to her feet. He took her again on the bed, with her moaning and writhing beneath his touch, until they both exploded with a myriad of cry’s as they reached their peak.

They lay together afterwards for some time, the sunlight pouring through the windows and draping them with a soft, orange glow. Natasha lay on her front, resting her head on its side on her arms, and watching Loki beside her as he drew patters on her back with his fingertips. No words were spoken for a while, instead they were content to lay in silence, with nothing but the sound of their own breath and the distant chirping of birds in the trees outside.

After a few moments the servants arrived to prepare the bath and deliver their breakfast. Loki wrapped Natasha in the silk sheets and carried her to his study, after it became apparent that it was indeed very difficult to walk, and kept her from sight whilst the servants did their work.

“What are you thinking?” Natasha asked as she sat on Loki’s desk in his study. He stood in front of her, hands on her waist and forehead resting against hers as he smiled.

“Nothing.” He chuckled. “I’m just happy.”

His words caused pleasant feeling to flutter in Natasha’s stomach, and a wide grin stretch her lips. She recalled how that afternoon in the clearing, under the canopy of trees, Loki had told her he wished to be a happier man, and how he thought he could be with help from her. She had succeeded it seemed.

The servant’s left after a few moments, Loki had entertained Natasha with the old maps and drawing he had scattered upon his desk, and when they had heard the soft thud of the door closing, Loki had scooped Natasha into his arms and carried her to the bath.

The water was steaming hot, warming her muscles as she slipped into the tub. Loki followed suit, sitting opposite her and handing her a goblet of wine. The room was filled with sweet and spiced aromas, it was the most pleasant bath Natasha had ever experienced. She shifted towards the prince, seating herself astride him and pressing kisses to his neck. He moaned in satisfaction, already growing hard beneath her. She slowly lowered herself down onto his length, her breath caught in her throat as he stretched her open.

“This will do nothing to help the pain.” Loki breathed, his words almost incoherent as he gasped at the sensation of filling her.

“Who cares?” She grinned wildly, capturing Loki’s lips in a lascivious kiss.

He moaned against her lips, his hips bucking up on their own accord to meet her thrusts.  She was truly an unprecedented and magnificent creature, never had he come across anyone so unique.

He spilled inside her with a coarse cry of ecstasy, and Natasha followed shortly afterwards, her back arching as she threw her head backwards, arms clutching Loki’s shoulders so tightly, he hardly expected her to have so much strength.

They spent the rest of the morning together, Loki’s chambers became their own little world with no interruptions, secluded from the rest of the palace. If it were not for her duties with the queen or Loki’s responsibilities of being a prince, they most probably would have spent the entire day in each other’s company. As it was, they departed from each other with some hesitation. Loki made sure Natasha was able to walk, and she was, though with some difficulty, and promised to see her later that day.

~X~

Natasha hesitated before rapping her knuckles on the large wooden door. She regretted leaving Loki’s chamber, after stepping out into the cold empty halls, it seemed as if she had spent the night in another world, somewhere far away from the Asgardian palace. All thoughts of politics and Ladies in Waiting were set aside the moment Loki had captured her lips with his. Now she stood, alone in a long corridor, waiting for the resident of the chamber to open his door.

Tyr opened his door with a disgruntled look upon his features, yet, upon seeing Natasha standing in the doorway he quickly turned his scowl into a smirk. “Well, I trust it went well.”

He was a large man, red faced and usually sweating through his tunic, with black wiry hair and bead that concealed rounded face.  His swollen belly was the largest in all the court, and he prided himself in it, strangely enough. He wore very little upon greeting her at the door, only a thin muslin tunic could be detected underneath an elaborately embroidered night robe.

“May I come in?” Natasha inquired, keeping her voice firm so that the question sounded more like a demand than anything else. His eyes widened slightly at her request, but as her glare remained persistent, he opened the door wider, allowing her entrance.

“By all means.” He huffed, walking back to his study, leaving Natasha to close the door behind her. A tall woman, dressed in a sleek, and somewhat translucent rose coloured dress walked from the bedroom, looking from Natasha to Tyr with a questioning look. “Ahh, I almost forgot.” Tyr chuckled, reaching into the pocket of his robe and extracting three large gold coins and placing them into the woman’s palm.

“You only owed me two.” The woman murmured, inspecting the gold in her hand suspiciously. She had a strong accent, likely from somewhere exotic, which made sense, considering her dark skin and thick black hair. She was beautiful.

“Tell no one.” Tyr replied, pointedly looking at the redhead in his chambers. The stranger smiled and nodded, turning to leave. Tyr chuckled, watching her go. He looked back to Natasha, pointing after the woman. “That’s Eshé, one of the best down at Lord Freyr’s pleasure house.” Natasha looked at him, bemused. Tyr merely chuckled and waddled back into his study. “You’d better get used to seeing things like that, girl, Asgard is not as innocent as you may have thought.”

He seated himself down behind his desk, puffing out a breath of air once he had made himself comfortable. He gestured for Natasha to sit and she did, somewhat awkwardly as she was still thrown off by the woman she had encountered, and how openly Tyr spoke to her about her. “I wish to consort with you about this task with the prince, instead of Ivan.”

“I see.” Tyr replied, his brow furrowing in confusion. “He did tell me that the two of you had a disagreement, yet I would have thought I would be the last person you wished to turn to. I was hardly pleasant the first time we spoke.”

“That is why I have come to you, you didn’t try to placate me with false friendship.”

“Clever girl.” Tyr smirked. Natasha ground her teeth together, hating the way he called her ‘girl’. “So is that why you have come? Or is there something more?”

“Did you know that Frigga had been told about this?” She asked, her voice quiet as she mentioned the sensitive subject. The thought of the queen judging her cut like a knife.

“Ah, well, that was not planned, but it seems Odin wished to tell her.” Tyr sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “She will allow you to continue as one of her ladies, regardless.”

“She must think me a whore.” Natasha murmured, ignoring how Tyr shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Do not use such vulgar language.” He muttered bitterly. “She knows of your situation, therefore, she knows you only do this for the good of the realm.”

“Lord Kvasir mentioned a husband would be found for me.” Natasha said, changing the subject from one that pained her to think about. “That is another reason that I have come.”

“Yes, we have already arranged for you to marry someone, though he is not needed at this present time. I suppose the marriage shall take place when Loki no longer has need of you.”

“Is he of noble birth?” She questioned. She didn’t need to know who he was, she didn’t care, as long as this man could provide for her. She didn’t plan on returning to the time when she and Ivan had to scrounge for money to pay the landlord.

“There is no need to worry about this now, for the meantime we just need you to focus on Loki.”

Natasha departed shortly afterwards, her mind buzzing with thoughts of this supposed husband. But what really stuck on her mind was Tyr’s words ‘ _I suppose the marriage shall take place when Loki no longer has need of you.’_

The idea of Loki casting her aside like an old toy stung her more than she cared to admit. Tyr seemed quite certain that that would come to pass, though Natasha recalled how gentle Loki had been in their time together, and surely if he cared enough to prepare candles, a bath and breakfast, he cared enough to not dispose of her when another lady came into his life.

~X~

“I didn’t see you at breakfast.” Sif murmured, her head down and focusing on her point work, much to Natasha’s surprise. Sif detested such dreary and tedious pastimes, so to see her to intent on her work was curious.

“That is because I was not at breakfast this morning.” Natasha responded with a sigh. She knew what Sif was getting at, and why she didn’t go on a say what was on her mind was infuriating.

“Yes I am well aware.” Sif snapped. Her finger and thumb pressed tightly against her needle in aggravation.  “Where were you?”

Natasha looked around the gallery, Frigga sat in an armchair opposite her, glancing up at Natasha every so often with a grieved look upon her features. Amora sat by her side, reading her correspondence, though she pronounced certain words very ill, and Natasha often heard Frigga sighing and correcting her.

“I was unwell, I called for breakfast to be brought up to my chamber.” This caught Frigga’s attention, and the queen pursed her lips, fiddling with her hands distractedly.

“I was knocking on your door for some time.” Sif countered, and Natasha could hear the irritation in her tone.

“I must have been sleeping.” Natasha feigned amusement, chuckling to herself in attempt to brush off the awkwardness. Sif was less than pleased with her response, however.

“These past few day’s you have been so secretive, I hardly see you, and when I do you are most certainly keeping something from me.”

“Must we speak of this now?”

“Well, I don’t know when I shall see you next, seeing as you are so busy these days.” The dark haired woman muttered, bowing her head again and retreating to her work.

“Oh, Sif, you are so naïve.” Amora chimed, folding Frigga’s letters and placing them into a pile by her side. “Our Natasha is in love, this is why she is so changed.”

“Amora, no one cares for your pathetic little matchmaking games.” Sif retorted, retrieving an offended look from the blonde opposite her.

“Girls, hush.” Frigga interjected, her voice tense and her gaze flickered towards Natasha briefly. Each look felt like a dagger in Natasha’s side. “Continue with your work, and we shall hear no more of this prattle.”

The room silenced and the ladies were left to continue their work, with Amora casting disdainful glances at Sif every so often, and Sif avoiding Natasha’s gaze behind the shield of her needlework. The whole situation was awkward, and Natasha was beginning to realise how quickly she would lose those precious to her from this task she had accepted. She wanted to return to Loki’s side, where it felt safe, reassuring yet exciting. Instead she had to endure the endless hours of silence, with a woman who never ceased to prod her nose into her business, a friend who refused to meet her gaze and a queen who most probably detested her for what she was doing to her son.

From time to time she glanced towards the large double doors at the end of the gallery, willing Loki or someone to enter and steal her away from the tiresome duties of a lady in waiting.

After a little while Amora spoke up again, though her voice was softer, more quiet as she whispered to Natasha. “Will you be bidding farewell to Prince Thor’s guests this afternoon?”

“Of course, why?”

“Well, it I should hope so. It will be the last time you see Lord Barton, and you really should have stolen him while you had the chance.”

“Stolen him?”

“Now he is going back to Midgard, and you will not see him for weeks, perhaps even months.” Amora continued, ignoring Natasha’s protests. “You hardly tried, I think.”

Natasha sighed, unable to grace Amora with an answer, instead she returned to her work, cutting off the conversation entirely. Frigga left some time afterwards, smiling as she excused herself from the gallery, and Natasha was surprised that a smile was even sent her way.

As the doors closed behind Frigga, Freya who had moved over to them in order to join their conversations took the queen’s chair.

“I heard that Prince Loki had a whore in his room last night.” Freya grinned excitedly at the gossip, and she had already successfully drawn Amora in. “Apparently he requested two platters of breakfast to be sent to his chamber, and a bath to be prepared.”

“Lucky girl.” Amora hummed in amusement, working on her sewing at she listened to what Freya had to say.

“It is not so irregular for Loki to bed a pleasure girl, surely.” Sif remarked, her interest peaked, and she forgot all animosity between her and Amora.

“Well, I was sure that the men all do such things in the pleasure house, and not bring their business to the halls of Asgard, it is quite disrespectful.” Freya responded. “It was kind of him to draw her a bath, I suppose, she would need it after he was done with her.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha questioned. Despite telling herself not to get involved in such a conversation, she couldn’t help herself.

“Well, it is no secret that the price may be rather… how should I put it, boisterous in the bedroom.” Amora giggled beside Freya as if they were both in on some sort of scandalous joke.

“He hurts them.” Sif finished for Freya, phrasing the words more carefully, though far more harshly. “It is no secret that the girls return to the pleasure house covered in bruises and golden coins slipping through their fingers. I suppose he pays them well enough for what he does to them.”

“Surely these are mere rumours.” Natasha protested, remembering how gentle Loki had been with her perhaps at times he had been quite a bit more libidinous than before, but she was perfectly unharmed. She couldn’t decide if it were a good thing or not.

“You ask the girls at the pleasure houses.” Sif sniggered coldly. “See for yourself.”

~X~

The courtyard was bustling with the bodies of guests, noblemen and ladies, all collected in the space to bid farewell to Prince Thor’s Honoured guests. Natasha stood at the bottom of the stone steps that led up to the doors of the palace. At the top of the steps stood the royal family, standing proud above everyone else. Thor and Loki both made their way down the steps to meet their comrades by their horses.

Each guest moved around the courtyard bidding farewell to those they had become acquainted with over their short time visiting. Natasha curtsied and smiled to all who said goodbye to her. Lord Stark departed with a sly wink and a smirk, Banner clutched her hand affectionately and said, ‘until I see you again,’ which made Natasha smile at the prospect of getting to know the man better in the future. Lord Rogers gave a bow and a curt kiss to her hand, telling her of how much he wished to see her again. Lord Barton was last, placing a kiss on her hand and promising her he would return soon. He stayed with her a little longer than the other guests had, keeping a lengthy conversation going with her until he was called to his horse. He kissed her hand for a second time and turned to leave.

Amora nudged Natasha in the side, presenting her with a devious grin. “There is still hope for you yet.” She whispered excitedly. Natasha rolled her eyes and caught sight of Loki standing nearby. He glared at Lord Barton with ire, his gaze finding hers and his jaw tightened, yet his focus lingered on her, and Natasha could detect the slightest hint of jealousy merged with desire. She could work with that.

The guests departed in a large procession, riding their horses through the city of Asgard until they were unable to be seen from such a distance. Natasha wished them well on their journeys, and despite the prospect of a more peaceful environment now they were gone, she rather hoped that they would return. There was no denying that they had been great company, with thrilling stories to tell.

~X~

Natasha wondered through the halls alone, already there was a considerable difference in the palace’s atmosphere now the guests had all departed. The city had fallen into a peaceful lull, servants walked through the halls looking far less stressed and busy, taverns were far less rowdy, and the courtyard was empty, save a few horsemen riding in and out of the city.

She pondered how much had changed in the short time of the guests’ stay. How much Natasha had changed. Though, the latter could be caused by her experience with the prince. She recalled how quiet, how frightened she had been the day prior, but now she found herself with unusual confidence. Suddenly the whole idea of ‘distracting’ the prince became more appealing and exciting. Nothing could make her deny how amazing it had felt to share his bed, it had been the most extraordinary sensation, and one she didn’t wish to give up so soon.

She understood the risk she was taking. She had heard of Loki’s roughness, and truthfully she feared what he would do if he ever discovered her lies, but at the same time she couldn’t shake the sensation that he felt something for her, something more than just lust.

When she reached the doors to the library, she didn’t bother to knock. She knew he was in there, and she knew he would not object to her entrance. She found him by the hearth, sitting behind a large oaken desk that was covered with papers and documents. He hardly noticed her standing there, he was so deep in concentration, it wasn’t until she cleared her throat that he looked up at her. Loki’s expression remained placid as he scrutinised her, and it was all Natasha could do not to worry that something was wrong.

“You should have knocked.” Loki sighed, rubbing his hand over his face tiredly. Natasha’s heart sunk at his cold words. Had he finished with her already?

“I wouldn’t have thought you would mind, you never have before.”

Loki sighed, pushing away from the desk and leaning back on his chair. “Come here.” He said gently, gesturing for Natasha to come closer. She walked slowly towards him, and he pulled her down to sit on his lap. “There is nothing between Lord Barton and yourself, is there?”

“Of course not.” Natasha replied, lips twitching in amusement at his concern. “He is a friend.”

“Hmm, I’d hope so.” He smiled gently, his grasp around her waist tightening ever so slightly.

“What are you reading?” She inquired, looking over the pages he had scattered over his desk.

“History of Asgard.” He replied, chuckling slightly. “A rather dreary and monotonous read, though it is very… informative.”

“Why are you bothering with it?” Natasha laughed, flipping through the pages interestedly.

“It goes into detail of the history of the monarch, of noblemen, court members. I thought I should educate myself a little more with my families past.” He held Natasha’s hand in place, stopping her from flipping through anymore pages and making him lose his place. “One day, you shall be written into this book, as the Queens Lady in Waiting. You are a favourite of hers, no doubt you shall be mentioned. Perhaps they will even draw your portrait.”

“I shouldn’t think so.” She said quietly, a small smile on her lips. It wasn’t just the mention of the queen that set Natasha on edge, but also the tome that Loki was studying. She didn’t know much about what she was supposed to be distracting him from, but she knew she had to keep Loki from discovering the secrets that were hidden in the history of the realm. If Loki was studying The History of Asgard, surely that was something she could not allow him to do. She adjusted her sitting on his lap, so that she sat astride him, arms around his neck. “Why don’t we do something a little more fun?”

There was certainly no hesitation from Loki, as he hoisted her up so that she sat on the desk, feathering kisses down her neck. His lips trailed up to her mouth, the kisses turning feral as he hiked up her skirt, pushing her knees aside to grant him more access to her. The proof of his arousal rubbed against her core, straining against his breeches. Her hands curled around the fabric of his tunic, scrunching it up in her hands and pulling him closer to her. He held her thigh’s tightly, pulling her towards him, her legs dangling off the edge of the desk. “Natasha.” He moaned in her ear, sending bolts of pleasure between her legs.

She grinned at her success, reaching down to palm the hardness in his trousers, and his moans became louder, more palpable. She removed the laces of his breeches, slowly at first, but considering her own need for what was to come, she quickened her pace until his breeches slipped down to his knees. He pushed into her in one fast thrust, and she covered her mouth to conceal her scream of pleasure. Loki reached up and tore her hand away from her lips just soon enough that he heard the end of her pleasure filled cry. “Let me hear it.” He hissed, thrusting into her again, this time harder so that she cried out again, louder.

“Someone will discover us.” She whispered against his lips, voice breaking with the sensation of Loki inside of her.

“Let them.” He replied, his pupils blown wide as he captured her mouth into a kiss and bucking his hips to push inside her again and again.

She fell back onto the desk, her back arching as he gripped her hips, pounding into her in the most raw and coarse manner, yet it was the best sensation she had ever experienced. Her hands scrambled on the desk for something to hold onto, as her body rocked against the desk. In doing so she managed to push numbers of pages off the table, hands ‘accidentally’ scrunching them up in her many fits of pleasure.

She moaned his name, over and over like a prayer on her lips. Her orgasm came crashing down upon her, her back arching, fingernails scratching the desks surface, and stars exploding behind her eyes as she screamed. The sound was just enough to tip Loki over the edge, and he cursed and shouted, spilling inside of her as she writhed beneath him.

Panting, she sat back up, relishing in the feel of him still inside of her. He kissed her passionately, forehead resting against hers.

“I am betrothed you know.” He murmured quietly. His hands stroked her arms tenderly, his green eyes seeking out her own.

“I know.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“Okay.”


	9. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A woman must look her best at every opportunity. Men have control over the realm, but we have the control over the men.” Freya had informed her with a sly smile and a wink, improving her likability somewhat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh gosh! I'm so so so sorry for taking so long to update, I've just been so busy! And I think I am going to be as equally busy next week, so an update may be late again! I really wanted to update weekly or maybe even more frequently than that, but luckily after next week I have nothing going on, and even two weeks holiday from work, so there will be lots and lots of writing being done! Any way, my dears, I hope you enjoy this next chapter! Trouble is brewing in Asgard! x

 

It had been exactly two weeks since their first coupling, and almost every night since Natasha had spent in Loki’s chambers. He was surprisingly gentle with her, despite what Sif had said about his rendezvous with the pleasure girls. Quite soon the idea of ‘distracting’ the prince was something to look forward to, after all, with Sif refusing to speak with her, Loki was all Natasha really had, if you discounted Amora of course, Natasha didn’t really regard her as a friend.

Natasha still knew of the dangers, and what she stood to lose over the task at hand, but in those moments when Loki wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, her dread and fear seemed to wash away from her, forgotten.

Sif had kept her distance from Natasha for some time, only ever murmuring a half-hearted greeting whenever they crossed paths. So it came as a large surprise when the black haired woman came rushing down the gallery towards her, a look of distress on her features.

“Natasha.” She called, coming to a halt in front of her.

“What do you want?” Natasha asked, looking up from her book and sounding a little bitterer than intended.

“I need your help.” Sif replied, bowing her head in what seemed like shame and defeat. Natasha let out a guffaw of laughter causing Sif to scowl at her. “What is it?”

“Weeks of silence, and now you need my _help_?”

“You don’t need to make a show of it.” She snapped.

“What is it that you want?”

“It’s so pathetic.” Sif groaned, slumping down into an armchair across from Natasha. “I was walking with Thor, and he asked if I would go with him on a walk this afternoon.”

“So?” Natasha prodded, unsure of why this situation required her help.

“Well, I panicked. I asked him if I could bring you with me.”

“Why?” She asked, trying to repress a chuckle.

“I don’t know, I suppose the thought of being alone with him is rather… unsettling.”

“But isn’t this what you wanted? You wanted Thor to show an interest in you, didn’t you? It’s obvious you feel something for him.”

“But that was then, and now it is complicated.”

“Because he’s finally doing what you always wanted?”

“Yes! And I never thought he would.” Sif laughed, appreciating the feeling of comfort between the two of them. It had been so long since they had been able to talk with each other without insulting one another.

“Do you really _want_ me to come?” Natasha asked, finally setting down her book now that the conversation held more promise.

“I don’t know, I suppose I do.” Sif fiddled with the hem of her dress, not wanting to admit that she had missed Natasha’s company. “I just don’t want to be alone with him, his intentions are pure, I’m sure of it, but I wouldn’t be able to bear a silence with him, where we both cannot decide what to say. You are so skilled with words, Natasha, it will not be so awkward with you there.”

“I think my presence will only increase the ‘awkwardness.’”

“But Thor agreed to bring you with us, he is fond of you, and perhaps he will even bring along Fandral or Hogunn to keep you company.”

“Alright.” Natasha sighed, she too had felt the pain of their distance to one another, and this was her opportunity to redeem herself. If she could not confide in her friend on such matters as her dealings with Loki, perhaps she could allow Sif to confide in her with her dealings with Thor. Sif seemed to be her one genuine friend at court; despite Amora’s strange little attachment to her, and Loki’s. Sif was comfortable company.

“Good.” Sif said uneasily, shifting from pleading back a to colder demeanour. It was clear that she was fighting the urge to display her gratitude to Natasha, and struggling to hold up a cold façade. Natasha merely smiled and turned back to her book, thinking little on the situation, at least they were talking again.

~X~

Loki shifted in his seat as he heard the doors to the library open and close. He was hidden behind shelves of books, seated comfortably in a plush red armchair hoping to remain undisturbed in his studies. His hope that Natasha had come looking for him died away when he picked up on the recognisably heavy footsteps of his brother heading his way.

“Brother.” Thor called from somewhere deeper in the labyrinth of bookshelves. Loki smirked, hoping his brother would lose his way in the complicated maze, and give up hope of finding him. As it was, Thor’s voice only grew louder, closer as the blonde manoeuvred his way towards Loki. “I crave a word with you.”

Thor emerged from behind bookcase, his expression serious and a little desperate. For a split second Loki felt a pang of fear in his chest, only to realise that if there were anything gravely serious in the matter, his brother would have called to him with far more urgency.

“Well, brother.” Loki drawled, setting his book onto his lap. “I am impressed with how rapidly you found me, especially since you so rarely step into this part of the palace.”

“Do not think me so brainless, brother, as to forget where you would _always_ hide during one of our games as young boys.” Thor chuckled seating himself down in the armchair across from him.

Loki looked around at the space in which he was situated and inwardly cursed. To someone like Thor, being in such a place so frequently most probably came across as some pathetic act of sentimentality, when really in was just the most comfortable place in the library.

“What is it, Thor, that is so urgent that you must distract me from my solitude?”

“I have asked the Lady Sif on an outing with me this afternoon.” Thor began, interlacing his fingers with an air of sternness.

“Well, congratulations, I never thought you had it in you.” Loki rolled his eyes and picked up his book again. Was that all that his brother had come to tell him? Surely Thor knew by now that Loki held little regard for Sif, she had been a passing fancy when he was but a boy, and now, of course, he had someone far more interesting to focus on. “Will that be all?” He inquired from behind his book.

“It is more complicated.” Thor sighed, slumping back into the armchair exasperatedly.

“Last minute regret?” Loki smirked, still hiding his face behind the tome.

“No.”

“Did she reject you?” Loki questioned, placing his book down to reveal his wide, presumptuous grin.

“No.”

“Oh, well then, get on with it, I do not have all day.”

“She has asked for Lady Natasha to join us.” Thor revealed, and Loki’s smile faded as he took in his brothers words. “You must know, brother, how much I respect Natasha, but having her there was certainly not my intention.”

“You did make it clear that it was to be just the two of you, yes?” Loki verified, successfully hiding his amusement with feigned concern.

“Well, I thought I did.” Thor paused, mulling over the scene in his mind. “Yes, I am sure that I did.”

“It is quite possibly nerves, that or she does not like you the way that you want her to.”

“But, Natasha had told me that Sif did feel something for me.”

“Then it is nerves, dear brother.” Loki sighed and stood from his chair, gesturing towards the exit. “Now if you came for advice, I believe you received it. You have wasted enough of my time.”

“No.” Thor interjected, still sitting in his seat. “I came to ask of you a favour as well.”

Loki groaned and sat back into his chair. All he wanted was a bit of peace and quiet, the only visit he wished to receive was one from Natasha, and Thor was not an appealing substitute.

“Well?”

“It would be uncomfortable if Natasha were to come with us alone, as my attention, subconsciously, would be drawn to Sif only. So I ask if you could escort Natasha, so that Sif and I may have some privacy.”

“I see.” Loki smirked, liking where this was going.

“I would have asked one of the warriors three, as I know they are fond of her, but they have been sent hunting. I know that you are somewhat friendly with her, I noticed the two of you dancing at the feast to welcome us home two weeks ago.”

“She is tolerable.” Loki lied, knowing it would be best to conceal just how close they had grown since that first dance. He smiled, deciding to milk this request to its last drop. “But what do I get in return?”

“Brother, I…”

“If I am doing you a favour, I expect for you do to something in return.” Loki interrupted. Despite thinking that escorting Natasha seemed quite enjoyable, he wanted to see how far he could exploit his brother. “Natasha and I have spoken to one another on few occasions, what makes you think I should find this ordeal pleasing for myself?”

“In return I shall…” Thor furrowed his brow, thinking of something he could offer that Loki did not already have. “I shall make you hand when I am king.”

“Thor, I am a prince, if I am not king, I shall be given a position of power by default.”

“Well, what is it that I can offer you in return?”

Loki sighed, realising he didn’t want for anything as of yet. “Let us settle on a debt, I may use this at any time and should you pay up we shall be even.”

“Deal.” Thor smiled. “We set off for our outing this afternoon, will you meet us in the courtyard?”

“Without fail.” Loki murmured sarcastically in agreement. He paused as a question sprang to mind. “You are not pursuing Sif in the hopes of bedding her, are you?”

“Brother, what?” Thor frowned, scandalised by Loki’s question.

“It is just, I see no reason for you to court her when you know there is no possibility for marriage. You know father has betrothed you to that silly Midgardian woman.”

“I know.” Thor replied, his voice quiet. “But my feelings shall not be repressed, I shall not spend the rest of my days of freedom pining over Sif, I intend to do something, even if it is merely spending time in her company.”

“Well, I am glad that you do not have your hopes up, she would never consent to anything more, for a woman of her rank it would surely… damage her reputation.” Loki paused again, his thoughts turning towards Natasha. He had ruined her, nobody else knew it, but if they did she would be shunned by everyone, and it was all due to his tenacious libido. He sighed, guilt flooding his every particle. “Do you ever resent father for his control over our matrimony?”

“I know his intentions are for the best, that he only looks out for the kingdom, but yes, sometimes I wish he would look out for us and our happiness as well.”

“I know not how long it will be until I am chained by law to another, and I know not whether I shall like her or not.” Loki complained. Despite the negative subject of their conversation, he could not deny the content it brought him to be having a civil and meaningful interaction with his brother. He could hide behind his pessimistic façade all he wanted, but it would never change the fact that they were brothers, no matter what.

“Nor I.” Thor replied. “Best enjoy ourselves while we can.”

~X~

Natasha was alone in her chamber when the letter arrived. Fulla, the thin, blonde handmaiden to Frigga, who always knocked so tentatively on her door, handed her the parchment, sealed with the familiar wax stamp of house Fury in Midgard. She turned the letter over in her hands carefully, unsure of its contents.

“Was this letter sent with any urgency, Fulla?”

“No Ma’am, not that I am aware.”

“I see, thank you.” Natasha smiled, watching as Fulla curtsied and left. The girl was thin, scarily so, and many times Natasha had considered offering her some food, but she never did, fearing it would offend the girl. She knew it would offend herself, if someone offered her something as if she were some sort of charity.

She closed the door and sat on her window seat, breaking the wax seal with nimble fingers. A dozen questions ran through her mind: Why would House Fury write to her? What could it say? Had it anything to do with Ivan’s debts? And so many more that they all seemed to merge together and form an incoherent blare in her mind.

The letter in question did not contain any of the subjects that she had imagined it to have, instead it was from Lord Barton, explaining to her why he had not written to her sooner, how he spent his days in Midgard, and how he wished to return to her soon.

She set the letter down on a small end table after reading it, and stared at it in confusion for some time, she couldn’t quite think what to make of it. Why had Lord Barton written to her? He was fond of her, she knew that, but she had never made any request that he write to her, she was not _that_ urgent for his company. What struck her as most odd about the letter was the language he used. His words came across as almost romantic. Was it a love letter? She couldn’t understand why it would be, she had not given Clint to opportunity to think so, had she? Her thoughts traced back to Amora, how she encouraged the match. Clint was a good man, and honest one, but there was nothing in him that could satisfy her in a marriage, and she was sure there was nothing in her that could do the same for him. The likelihood that Amora had something to do with this did not escape her, and Natasha promised herself that she would confront the woman after she went with Sif on her outing with the prince.

She sighed, despite wanting to return to Sif’s good graces, the idea of the outing sounded most awful. What could she do to help? Trail behind and offer terse comments if the silence became too lingering? And _if_ Thor could produce someone to keep her company, what value should she find in that? Whoever it could be, no matter how kind or how entertaining they were, she could not find the enthusiasm or tempt to interact with them. The afternoon was sure to be droll, but she was doing it for Sif, and perhaps that was all that mattered.

~X~

Natasha walked down the steps into the courtyard, dressed in a forest green gown with white lace around a square neckline. Her clothing choices had been somewhat altered by spending two weeks without Sif and having to find company with Amora and Freya who had absolutely despised her initial fashion choices. They had remarked on how plain she was, and questioned why she only dressed well on occasions and not everyday.

“A woman must look her best at every opportunity. Men have control over the realm, but we have the control over the men.” Freya had informed her with a sly smile and a wink, improving her likability somewhat.

So her old dresses were tucked away at the back of her closet, to be forgotten. She supposed she was a proper Asgardian woman now, succumbing to their fashions, growing fond of their strong wines. She even styled her hair like them, saying goodbye to the days of messy red curls. She supposed Loki didn’t mind, her clothes always ended up strewn across his chambers and her hair sprawled across his pillows.

She adjusted her gown, it wasn’t her best gown, but she had decided to avoid looking better than Sif, which she supposed was quite rude to think about, but she didn’t want to risk anything. This was Sif’s day after all.

It was a pleasant day, warm and tranquil, she supposed it was a better day than any for Thor to have asked for Sif’s company. If it had rained, like it had been doing for the last few days, they probably would have spent their day wondering around the palace, which would have made the prospect of Natasha joining them even more unbearable. Loki was stood in the centre of the courtyard, lips split into a grin and hands placed behind his back as he watched her descend the stairs.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Natasha smiled, closing the distance between them. Loki frowned questioningly.

“Is that so?”

“You’re not riding off for the day, are you?” She asked, a sultry look forming in her gaze. “I would have liked your company later this afternoon.”

“My dearest Natasha.” He smirked, resisting the urge to reach out and play with a lock of her fiery hair, lest somebody see them. “I thought we were to spend the day together.”

“I have promised to spend the day with Sif.” Natasha countered, confusion in her looks. Loki gave her a knowing look and she realised his meaning.

“You are getting slow, Romanov.” He quipped, eyes flickering towards his brother and lady Sif walking towards them both.

“Ah, Lady Natasha, I see you have discovered your companion for the afternoon.” Thor smiled at her, and Natasha could have kissed the man for choosing Loki to join them, perhaps the afternoon would not be so droll after all.

Sif’s face fell as she grasped Thor’s meaning, sending an apologetic look in Natasha’s direction. Natasha almost forgot how Sif abhorred Loki, and although she was happy with the pairing, she supposed Thor had not thought it out more carefully.

They began walking away from the palace, Thor carrying a large bag over his shoulder as he walked beside Sif. Loki and Natasha trailed behind them, walking close enough that their knuckles grazed against each other in a miniscule yet no less charming show of affection.

It had become clear over the two weeks that she was a little more than his lover, he enjoyed her company, and though it was no more than that, it was pleasing enough. Repeatedly he would gift her with warming baths, exquisite jewellery, and though she never asked for such things he never failed to bring her something new each time they coupled. She had feared that it was some form of payment on his part, she was no pleasure girl, and he knew that, but she accepted the gifts nonetheless. If she was to continue the task of being his courtier, she supposed she deserved some reimbursement.

The four of them walked to a clearing under a canopy of trees, Natasha instantly recognised it to be the place where Loki had brought her that afternoon before their first coupling. Sif looked up at the high branches of the trees, her lips parted and eyes wide with wonder. “You like it?” Thor asked, his own lips curling at the sides.

“It is beautiful.” She replied, turning to Thor. “I have never been to this part of Asgard, and I thought Natasha and I had scoured it all on our walks.”

“Loki and I used to play here as boys.” Thor said, addressing only Sif, which Natasha considered was fair though it made the conversation slightly uncomfortable. “We promised each other that it would only be us who knew about such a place, but that was when we were mere boys. Do you forgive me for revealing our secret sanctuary, brother?”

Loki chuckled quietly beside Natasha, and she had to struggle to keep herself from doing the same. “You are forgiven, brother. As long as I may bring my women here whenever I wish.”

Sif scoffed and turned away in disgust, prompting Thor to send an angered glare to his brother, and lead Sif away. Loki nudged Natasha playfully when their backs were turned and giving her a mischievous wink. They walked to the centre of the clearing and Thor stopped to set down his bag.

“What have you brought?” Sif inquired with interest, lips quirking into a smile as Thor reached into the bag to procure a blanket. He set it down onto he grass, gesturing for Sif to take a seat.

Loki looked uncertainly at the blanket to Natasha. “I don’t think it was designed to seat four.” He whispered, amusement on his tone. “Natasha and I shall take a walk, leave you two to… whatever it is you have planned.”

Sif seemed to pick up on Loki’s suggestive words, and looked from Thor to Natasha with a hint of fear in her eyes. Thor merely chuckled and took an apple from his bag.

“We _planned_ to have lunch.” He looked to Sif reassuringly, handing her the fruit.

Loki looked thoughtfully at the abundance of food that Thor had brought. Leave it to him to think of feasting. “Might as well.” He murmured to Natasha, taking her arm and leading her towards the others. This didn’t go unnoticed by Sif, who raised a brow at Natasha, and she just shrugged as though she didn’t really understand either.

~X~

A few hours past, and Natasha and Loki had found themselves sitting against a tree trunk, drinking wine and watching the sun beginning to set. The sky was painted with colours of orange, pink and blue hues, and the birds in the trees sung melodiously with the sounds of Sif and Thor’s distant laughter.

It was convenient that the two secret lovers were hidden behind the tree, so Loki could brush the hair behind her ear affectionately, and Natasha could rest her head on his shoulder, their legs entwined with one another’s as if they were one. They sat in silence, listening in on the conversations of Sif and Thor, chuckling to themselves whenever there was an uncomfortable since, or Thor said something foolish, yet no less endearing.

“Will you come to my chamber tonight?” Loki asked quietly, tilting his head so that his lips brushed against her hair as he spoke.

Natasha lifted her head from his shoulder, looking him in the eyes. “If you wish.” She noted the strange look in his eyes, it looked like guilt, though she could not understand why. “What is it?”

Loki hesitated, knowing he could not deny anything being on his mind. He may be excellent with the art of lies and deceit, but not when it came to her, after only two weeks of knowing each other, she knew him inside and out.

“Natasha, do you feel as though I have wronged you in any way?” He inquired, and she stared back at him with bewilderment.

“Of course not, why?”

“It is just that, if anyone were to discover us, my father, yours, I may go on with my life as normal, but you will be ruined.” He sighed, taking her hands in his. “I cannot stand the knowledge that I have defiled you.”

“You have not ‘defiled’ me in any way.” Natasha replied, cupping his cheek in her hand. If only he knew how it was her father _and_ his that planned this all along. She smiled, his concern was endearing, but the only person who should be worried about the ordeal was herself. “I came to your room on my own accord, you may have asked but I could have denied you at any point. It was I who sought you out in the library remember? I do not regret what we have done, it was the choice of both of us, so you see, you have done me no wrong.”

“But if anybody knew.” He began, taking her hand from his face and clutching it in his own. “If this got out, my mother, Sif, the whole court would think you a… a whore. And I cannot have that.”

“Do you wish to put an end to our copulation?” She asked, dread flowing through her. The idea of failing her task was fearful enough, but it was shadowed by the fear of losing his company, she had grown so fond and so accustomed to it.

“No.” He chuckled, with less jubilation than usual. “But I am giving you the opportunity to walk away, to end it yourself. I cannot go on with this knowing that you are uncomfortable.”

“I am not uncomfortable.” She replied shortly. “Don’t you get it? I could have left at any time, but I stayed. If I wanted to end this, your rank, your reputation would not have stopped me. I am a big girl, I can handle myself, I thought you would have known that by now.”

This time Loki’s laugh was filled with mirth, and he pulled her in for a kiss, ending it quickly in case his laugh had captured the attention of his brother. “Gods, of course I know it. That is why I… I find you so interesting.” He kissed her again, pulling her closer to him, but she pulled away, adjusting her hair.  His confusion lasted for only a moment, before he heard the sound of his brother’s footsteps on the grass heading towards them.

“Brother.” Thor grinned, emerging from behind the tree, followed by Sif. They had had just enough time to shuffle away from each other before Thor could see how closely they were sitting together. “I have not heard you laugh like that for years!”

“What are you talking about? I laugh at your idiocy like that all the time.” Loki smirked, but Thor ignored his brother’s jibe, instead turning his attention to Natasha.

“My lady, tell me, what was said that prompted such elation from my brother?”

“It was nothing much.” Natasha smiled up at the prince. “I think perhaps prince Loki has consumed too much wine.”

This made Thor laugh, a loud hearty sound that forced him to lean back from the power of it. Loki shifted beside her, sending her a look that told her he was perturbed by her mocking of him. She shrugged with a smirk on her lips and turned back to Thor.

“It grows late.” Sif reminded the prince from his side, and Thor sobered, nodding in agreement.

“Indeed, perhaps we shall return… before we have to carry Loki back.” He finished, letting out another guffaw of laughter, and Natasha had to wonder if it was Thor who had drunk too much.

They walked back the way that they came, Sif and Thor deep in conversation, and Loki and Natasha behind, his hand on the small of her back until they were closer to the palace and more likely to be seen.

When they returned to the courtyard, the sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon. Thor kissed Sif’s hand with a promise for another outing, and he bowed to Natasha, expressing his gratitude for her company. Loki bowed to them both at once, walking past Natasha and letting his fingers stroke her own as he passed.

Sif and Natasha walked back to their chambers together, and both were pleased to find a friendlier atmosphere between them.

“I am so sorry that you had to spend the day with Loki.” Sif said, breaking the silence that had lingered between the two of them for some time. “Had I have known that Thor intended to ask him, I would have gone alone and not allowed you to join us, saving you the agony you must have felt in his company.”

“It was fine.” Natasha assured her. “He was amiable.” He had been more than that, but Sif did not need to know such things.

“You do not have to lie to make me feel better.”

“How did you find the outing?” Natasha changed the subject, out of curiosity as well as feeling uncomfortable.

“It was awful.” Sif sighed.

“Really?” Natasha asked, stopping in her tracks out of sheer surprise. “After how much laughter I heard between the two of you, I would have thought you had a great time together.”

“We did!” Sif corrected her, laughing at Natasha’s blatant confusion. “He was lovely, a true gentleman, and it did not feel strange at all for our relationship to be something different than what it was before, but… I could help thinking about his betrothal.”

“I see.” Natasha replied, she was empathetic to Sif’s problem. Both princes were betrothed to other women after all. “And you wonder where this is going with you and Thor?”

“Yes, I find myself hating the idea that he could love another.”

“You _love_ him?” Natasha asked, stopping in her tracks again from Sif’s accidental confession.

“I- well, I suppose… I’m not sure.” Sif looked at the floor abashedly. “I just know that I can’t stand the prospect of Thor’s marriage to another.”

“I suppose I can understand.” Natasha smiled, walking again.

“How? Lord Barton is betrothed to no one, as far as I know.”

“You’ve bee spending far too much time with Amora, Sif. I do not see anything in the man, except perhaps friendship. To see him marry happily would make me very happy.”

“You best correct Amora on that subject them, she has been telling all of the ladies in waiting about your ‘secret romance.’ It has been quite the scandal over the past two weeks.”

“I am not sure that he sees a friendship with me however.” Natasha divulged with a sigh.

“What do you mean?”

“I received a letter from him this morning.”

“What did it say?” Sif asked, eyes wide with concern, and it made Natasha’s heart swell to see her friend so uneasy about the one-sided infatuation. If Sif had encouraged Natasha to embrace Lord Barton’s feelings for her it would have stung.

“Nothing of much importance, he wrote about his stay in Midgard, how he wished to return to me, and then he inquired about my health…” Natasha trailed off, still in disbelief about the letter. “I never asked him to write, is it not strange that he did anyway?”

“I should say so, I have never known a woman to receive letters of such matters when he was not prompted to do so.” Sif rubbed Natasha’s arm reassuringly. “Do not worry, I should not expect him to return from Midgard for some time. Until then his admiration for you may pass to the next woman he meets in King Fury’s court, and you may escape his courtship and remain his friend.”

“I hope so.” Natasha sighed, and she smiled, despite knowing that Sif’s presumptions were most probably inaccurate.

~X~

Natasha had left Loki’s chambers early that morning in order to find Amora and confront her. She had parted from him with some protestations on his behalf, and he had seemed rather unwilling to leave his chambers himself, though he would not say why. She had pressed her lips to his in a final goodbye and disappeared behind his door, wearing the violet silk gown he had gifted to her a few evenings prior. She had told everyone that it was an old gown brought with her from Midgard of course.

She strode into the gallery, seeing Amora and Freya huddling by the window that overlooked the courtyard. “Amora, we need to talk.” Natasha demanded, standing confidently with her arms crossed.

“Hush!” Freya hissed, sending her a glare before looking back out of the window. “Is that carriage not the finest thing you have ever seen?”

“Indeed, but notice the lace on her dress! From the finest dressmakers, I daresay!” Amora grinned, seemingly unaware of Natasha’s entrance, and more focused on the goings on in the courtyard.

“Amora.” Natasha repeated sternly.

“Oh, Natasha, come here.” Amora beckoned her over, ignoring the look of pure seething anger on Natasha’s expression. “Does she not look exactly like the queen?”

“Who?” Natasha asked, giving in to curiosity. She moved to the window to see a large, expensive carriage situated in the centre of the courtyard. Frigga and Odin stood with their backs to the window, welcoming a small party of visitors, though the attention seemed to be focused on one young woman. Her hair was golden, like sunlight, she had an elegance to her and she moved with such grace towards the queen, curtsying with a sweet smile. She did look like Frigga, but the resemblance remained mainly in her countenance, and not so much her looks, though she was indeed exceptionally radiant.

“She is the princess from Vanahiem, Sign.” Amora informed her, still keeping her attention on the courtyard. “She is to marry prince Loki and unite the realms as Odin once did with Frigga.”

“Poor girl, to be so fair, and matched with someone as dark as he.” Freya mused.

“She is to marry Loki?” Natasha repeated Amora’s words, unsuccessfully hiding her disbelief and upset. She knew he was betrothed, and she knew the marriage would happen sooner or later, but this was too soon.

Suddenly she found herself with the same emotion Sif had felt that evening, that she hated the idea of Loki in love with another. 


	10. Sigyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Studying your future wife?” She asked, an easy chuckle escaping her lips.
> 
> “I do not want to marry her.” Loki murmured, flicking a page irritably. Natasha smiled at his words. It was as she had hoped.
> 
> “Well, someone’s being very petulant today.” She laughed, picking the book out of his hands and tossing it aside. She sat herself onto his lap, arms looping around his neck.
> 
> “Only a fool would insult a prince in such a way.” Loki smirked, hands crawling up her waist.

Natasha’s view from the gallery window had not done Sigyn justice. Up close she was even more glorious to behold. Her hair was like spun gold, her cheeks a natural rosy shade and green eyes that matched Loki’s perfectly. Unfortunate, it seemed, that her personality was not equal to her beauty.

She had not yet spent a day in the palace, yet she had already made a poor impression on Natasha, and she was thankful that Sif shared her opinion.

“She boasts too much.” Sif mused, kicking a fallen apple at her feet as they walked through the clearing under the canopy of trees. “She would not stop talking about how her dressed were all made by the finest dressmakers in Vanaheim, and designed by herself, though Amora was swooning, of course she was.”

“She craves attention, and Amora gives it gladly.” Natasha agreed, trying her best to keep the distain she felt for the woman out of her tone. Sif needn’t know the extent of her loathing, nor the reason. She could have liked her, perhaps even felt bad for her for the fact that she had been sleeping with her betrothed, if only Sigyn was kinder.

“Oh yes, she will fit him nicely as his wife, though they will be the most awful couple in the whole palace.” Sif kicked another apple, this time with more force.

“Something wrong?” Natasha asked, a small smirk on her lips.

“It is just that Sigyn came out of nowhere, we never expected her to arrive so soon, and so I have to wonder when Thor’s betrothed will come.” Sif paused and let out a short puff of air before kicking the apple again. “Soon he will be betrothed and all the progression in our relationship will dissipate.”

Natasha had to suppress a sigh, she really couldn’t sympathise with Sif, not when Loki’s betrothed was already in the palace, preparing for the wedding. She could not care less about Thor’s betrothal, it was only Loki’s that captured her thoughts.

 “So make the most of what little time you have left.” Natasha advised. “If you wish to spend more time with him then by all means, go ahead. If you don’t then you shall only regret it when he is married.”

“But that does not eliminate the fact that he _will_ be married, and only in a matter of time.”

“I never thought you cared so much.” Natasha mused.

“Neither did I.” Sif smiled. “It is _very_ annoying.”

They began their walk back to the palace, it was a slow walk, as both of them were fairly reluctant to return to their duties and endure the endless praises of Sigyn.

“I wish it could go back to the way it used to be.” Sif sighed. “When Thor and I were just friends, there were no feelings between us, it was simpler.”

“I suppose I should not have encouraged the two of you to confront your feelings.” Natasha smiled apologetically, but her smile faded when she saw who was waiting for them in the courtyard. “Here we go.” She sighed.

 Sigyn stood in the middle of the courtyard, flanked by Amora and Freya who seemed to follow her everywhere she went. “When they told me you had gone walking I thought that they were joking.” Sigyn laughed, evoking soft giggles from the women beside her. “And unaccompanied no less!”

“Why should we need a man to escort us to a place we are already familiar with?” Sif asked, tilting her chin high. She towered over Sigyn, as she did with most at court, but the blonde was undeterred.

Sigyn looked away from Sif, a smirk on her red tinted lips. “In Vanaheim, the fields and forests much exceed the size of these here in Asgard, and they surpass the beauty further.”

“Then why don’t you go back?” Natasha asked sourly. “If Asgard is so mundane.”

Sigyn let out a quiet puff of laughter and fixed Natasha with a cold stare. “Why should I leave? I am to marry the prince.”

“Then you best get used to it.” Natasha advised, beginning to walk past her. “You wont be seeing the ‘beautiful Vanaheim’ any time soon.”

Sif snorted and followed Natasha, leaving Sigyn and her company in discontented silence.

“I certainly did miss your audacity.” Sif laughed, catching up with her with ease.

“What an arrogant, self-important twit.” Natasha murmured to herself as they entered the gallery, her jaw tensed in anger. “I should not consider Vanaheim an agreeable place if it produces such people.”

“Mind what you say.” Sif hissed. “The queen in from Vanaheim.”

“With the exception of her then.” Natasha sighed. “But you cannot deny how awful that girl is.”

“No, I confess, I cannot.” Sif laughed, sitting in one of the gallery chairs. “She will suit Loki well.”

Natasha let out a long dreary sigh and slumped into an armchair. It had only been half a day, yet Sigyn had already found herself a place on Natasha’s bad side.

~X~

Of course there was a feast that night, there always was when a visitor of high regard came to Asgard. The hall was laden with platters of meats and rich Asgardian delicacies, wine flowed freely from carafe to goblet, and guests danced and muttered amongst themselves. The place had a disgustingly merry ambience, Loki noted as he took a sip of wine. He sat at a long table situated upon a platform, so that the royal family could literally look down upon their guests, watching as Natasha danced another dance with Fandral, and he tried to ignore the nagging sensation of jealousy in the back of his mind. He was, after all, supposed to be entertaining the guest of honour, his soon-to-be wife, Sigyn.

She was as beautiful as the rumours had told, her skin like snow and hair like sunlight. He sighed, knowing as beautiful as she was, she could not compare to the likes of Natasha. He took another sip of wine and turned to Sigyn, who sat beside him, fiddling with her thumbs and eagerly awaiting the moment he would start up a conversation with her. Instead he glanced at her and sighed, not able to come up with a topic of any merit, and so he went back to sulking and drinking his libations.

It was embarrassing, that he was forced to stay beside a woman he barely knew, and that he could not come up with any plan to get to know her any better. Silver-tongue indeed.

Finally he managed to come up with a topic of conversation. It was boring and unimaginative, but he supposed if this was to be his future wife, he ought to speak with her at least a little before their wedding.

“Are you enjoying Asgard so far?” Sigyn’s face lit up at the sound of his voice, her pink lips curling into a smile.

“Very much.” She nodded. “Everyone here is so welcoming.”

Loki nodded, trying to ignore the thought of how boring the conversation was. “And have you met my mothers ladies in waiting?”

“A few.” She replied, her lips skewing to the side in thought. “Amora and Freya have been most kind.”

Loki chuckled quietly, remembering how Natasha would speak with such disdain about the two women. “And what about Natasha and Sif?”

“Lady Romanov and Lady Sif?” Sif pursed her lips, her eyes finding Natasha’s flame red hair in the crowds. “I have not conversed with them much yet, but so far they have been rather cold, I do not see why the queen holds them with such favour.”

Loki sniggered, and for a moment Sigyn thought it was because her company entertained him. A grin broke out on her lips, but it soon dropped when she noticed Loki staring into the crowd, his focus on nothing but fiery red curls, and what looked like desire in his looks.

~X~

Natasha sat in her chamber, her eyes flickering from the book in her hands to the door. Loki had not spoken with her that day, and she supposed it had something to do with Sigyn’s arrival, and her taking up his time. She sighed, leaning her head back against the wall, it would be worse when he was married.

It felt as though it had been the longest day of her life. Each hour had dragged on with nothing to do but think of the soon-to-be princess of Asgard. It was worse now that she was alone in her room, anticipating word from Loki, asking for her company, but it never came.

A knock on her door sent her jolting upright, her book was hastily placed on the end table beside her as she sprung to her feet. She swung the door open only to find an uneasy looking Fulla standing in her doorway.

“The queen has requested your aid this evening, my lady.”

“Oh, of course.” Natasha smiled and followed the girl down the corridor. Her heart had sunk when she saw the girl standing before her, despite all the talk of his marriage, all Natasha wanted to do was curl up with Loki and forget the whole thing. However, it had been a long time since she had been called to Frigga’s chambers, and she had assumed their separation had had something to do with Frigga’s knowledge of her son’s affair. Even the afternoons spent in the gallery, Frigga had kept her distance, which pleased most of her ladies, as it became clear that Natasha was no longer her favourite.

Frigga greeted Natasha from her vanity with a warming smile, eliciting a relieved sigh to escape her lips. “Natasha, you look so well.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Natasha smiled in return. She closed the distance between them, standing behind the queen and beginning to brush her hair.

“I take it you have met Sigyn.” Frigga said quietly when Natasha had begun plaiting her hair.

“I have.” Came the terse response. Natasha had to force herself not to roll her eyes, for it seemed Sigyn was all anyone could talk about. She couldn’t see what was so special about the girl.

“And what did you think?”

“She is beautiful.”

“Do you think Loki could love her?”

“I suppose, in time.”

“Do you think that she could him happy?” Frigga looked at Natasha in the mirrors reflection, seeking out some kind of response in her expression.

“I do not know, I have scarcely spoken to her once.”

“ _You_ make him happy.” Frigga mused, smiling when she noticed how Natasha had frozen in place. “He does not speak of you, but it is clear that you have made him happy.”

“I have been successful then.” Natasha laughed nervously; catching the saddened look that Frigga sent her way.

“Do you love him?” Natasha froze again, and she had to wonder if she had heard Frigga correctly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you love him?” The queen repeated, this time more sternly.

“I could not.” Natasha stared at the queen, choosing her words tentatively. “Loki is to be married to a princess, I am nothing but a distraction to him. To love him would be impractical.”

“Love is not about practicality, my dear girl.” Frigga smiled. “It arouses from inside of you, it is irrevocable, and it is unconditional.”

“I confess, I do not love your son.” Natasha replied, uncomfortable with their topic of conversation, but she supposed that was why Frigga had called on her, she needed to satisfy her curiosity. “I love his company, and by that I mean that he is one of the few people in Asgard that I can truly trust.”

Frigga nodded in understanding and stood from her chair, cupping the side of Natasha’s face with her hand. “I hope that you can trust me, Natasha.”

“I do.” Natasha replied, smiling at the queen softly. “I always have.”

Frigga smiled back at her, her eyes glazed with what looked like tears. She kissed Natasha’s forehead and bid her leave. She watched as Natasha left, a tear spilling over her cheek at the image of the woman she wished to be her daughter, but instead a harlot to her son.

~X~

Natasha spent the night alone for the first time in weeks, her bed felt strange, cold and empty without a certain prince to lie beside her. Her legs kicked out in the night, searching for his to wrap themselves around, but they found nothing. The sounds of the courtyard kept her up for a considerable amount of time, she was used to the soft sound of Loki’s breath, the rustling of his luxurious bed sheets as he moved in his sleep.

After a few hours of tossing and turning she finally gave in, getting up from her bed into the cold night air, feet padding across the cold stone floors towards her cupboard.  She retrieved two extra pillows and carried them back with her, tucking them under the covers and wrapping her body around them. It felt good to have _something_ to sleep next to, but the soft, doughy anatomy of the pillow could not compare to Loki’s toned and firm body. Just the feeling of his arms, strengthened by combat, wrapped around her was always enough to relax her. He was not built like his brother, who was so large that one bicep of his was the size of her head. No, Loki was lean, tall, towering and perfect.

The feeling of safety that he gave her did not come from her own feeling of insecurity, she was aware of her own strength, be it in intelligence or physical, and she could trust to keep herself safe. It irked her how she could not visit the training grounds like the men at court, for she was sure she could beat a majority of some of the guards, who were weedy compared to the princes, and often many were put into positions with little combat. Back in Midgard Natasha could easily practice her strength, she, the butchers boy and the daughter of the blacksmith would wonder into the forest, and she would always impress them both with how easily she could climb the trees. She could carry crates of heavy belongings, carry heaving buckets of water to her neighbour. Such things seemed unimpressive compared to what Thor could do, but she always impressed the townspeople. She supposed it gave her a sense of pride, a sense of belonging, and one that she found difficult to obtain in Asgard. The palace was so large in comparison to her old, small town that skirted the borders of Midgard, and with so many impressive members of court, she found it easy to fade into the background. It was why she loved Loki’s company so much, he treated her as if she was the only person in the realm, or at least, the only one that mattered.

By the time the sun had risen in the sky and its light shone through her windows, Natasha had only had little sleep, yet she found herself with a feeling of determination. She rose from her bed, dressing herself in a deep red silk gown, one that Amora had helped her obtain, and styled her hair hastily. She wished to catch the prince before both their duties began. Natasha knew he would be pulled away for time with Sigyn, and she would be asked to spend the day with Frigga, not that she minded, but she wished to see Loki. She had not seen him since Sigyn’s arrival, and had to know what he was thinking. Had the visit of Sigyn caused Loki to lose all admiration for Natasha, and that was if he had _any_ admiration to begin with.

She ate her breakfast quickly and left the dining hall, ignoring Sif’s protestations against her departure, and strode to the library, where she knew Loki would have sought refuge.

Two large guards flanked the entrance to the library, clad in shimmering golden armour, with long staffs in their hands. Natasha swallowed nervously and approached them, walking straight for the door.

“The library is occupied.” The guard to her left announced, his voice deep and authoritative. “Come back at a later hour.”

“Is it the prince?” Natasha asked, staring at the oaken door as if she could see through it and see Loki instead. She was sure he would be sitting in his armchair by the hearth, a heavy, dusty tome in one hand, the other stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“It does not concern you, girl. Leave.”

“The prince has asked for me personally.” Natasha lied, glancing at the more talkative guard and raising her brow defiantly.

“And why would he ask for one of his mothers ladies?” The guard asked, his tone implied how little he believed her story. He chuckled and looked away, finished with their conversation.

“He has asked for my help.” She lied again, though she was skilful in such an art, and the guard turned back to her, intrigued by what she had to say. “He is studying the history of Midgard, and as someone who has lived there for a vast majority of her life, he inquired after my knowledge of the place.”

The guard pursed his lips, considering her justification. “The prince had requested no interruption.” He countered and turned away again.

“And what will the prince say when I tell him I could not help him with his studies, because a pair of stubborn guards would not allow me to pass?” She asked, stepping back to regard them both.

“Do not pull me into this fray.” The second guard murmured.

The three of them stood in silence for a good while, Natasha stared at them both, but neither seemed to yield. After some time Natasha found she could hear footsteps behind the door, and a voice from there broke their silence.

“Let her in Váli, Hœnir, I shall not mind.” Loki’s voice was soft, almost sad. Natasha wondered if he too was disheartened by the imminent marriage.

Hœnir, the less talkative of the two glanced at her, a small smile on his lips. “You may pass, my lady.”

The doors were opened for her, and Natasha walked into the large chamber, stopping to give Váli a scornful curtsey before disappearing behind the large wooden doors.

Loki seemed to have retreated to his armchair, for she could not see him about. It was not unusual, she found, to find him hidden away beneath a pile of books, reading to his hearts content. It was one of his more admirable qualities, for his intelligence in some fields amazed her, while her intelligence in others left him similarly impressed.

“Loki?” She called, there was no answer, but a soft rustle of turning pages that indicated he was to her right. She followed the noise through the maze of bookshelves and found him deep in a plush green chair, flicking angrily through a book of Vanaheim’s history.

“Studying your future wife?” She asked, an easy chuckle escaping her lips.

“I do not want to marry her.” Loki murmured, flicking a page irritably. Natasha smiled at his words. It was as she had hoped.

“Well, someone’s being very petulant today.” She laughed, picking the book out of his hands and tossing it aside. She sat herself onto his lap, arms looping around his neck. Already her stomach began to flutter from just being in his presence, for she had been deprived of it for too long.

“Only a fool would insult a prince in such a way.” Loki smirked, hands crawling up her waist.

“Hmm, and am I a fool?” She leaned in, her nose brushing against his.

“Well, you did come to my bed willingly.” He chuckled, pressing a feather light kiss to her jaw.

“Then I must be the greatest fool in all the realm, for I have come to your bed _many_ times.” She paused, detecting a hint of sorrow in his eyes, and she softened her voice. “Shall I come tonight?”

“If you wish.” Loki sighed. “Though I see no reason why you should want to, when my future wife sleeps so close to us in the palace.”

“You have so few days left of freedom, we should make the most of those that you have left.”

“You sound like Thor.” He smirked, pressing another kiss to her lips.

“He is a clever man, despite what you may think.”

“Indeed, he is also a lucky one.” Loki sighed, gripping Natasha firmly and pulling her closer. “He does not have to marry so soon.”

“Do you really dislike her so much?”

“She dislikes you, so I dislike her.” Loki shrugged, as if it were completely normal.

“I should have little to do with this.” Natasha told him, pulling away from his grasp. “I have nothing to do with the marriage, leave me out.”

“It is not just that.” Loki leaned back in his chair tiredly. “We have nothing in common, and I can never think of what to say to her.”

“What is this? The silver tongue with nothing to say?” Natasha grinned.

“I am just as astonished as you.” He smiled, pulling her in for a deep kiss. “Yes, come to my chamber tonight, I have missed you.”

“I shall, you know I shall.” Natasha whispered against his lips. “But first I must attend your mother, and you your wife.”

“Future wife.” He reminded her as she slipped from his grasp and stood. “And I am to see my father first anyway, perhaps I may beg him to postpone the wedding.”

“Oh no, do not do that.” Natasha quipped. “Amora has already promised to help me choose my gown.”

Loki rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself, watching as she left his company and feeling the pang of disappointment when she was out of his sight.

~X~

Natasha stepped out of the library, her smile still gracing her lips as she turned to walk down the hall back to her chamber.

“That was a speedy study session.” Váli muttered from behind her, and she stopped in her tracks, spinning on her heel to face him.

“What are you implying?” She asked, her tone sharp.

“Nothing at all, my lady.” Váli chuckled and shook his head. “Though it seems Loki has run out of prey at the pleasure houses, so he must find game within his mothers court instead.”

“You ought to watch your tongue, sir.” Natasha said slowly, her eyes burning into him like fire. “Such slander could get one hanged.”

Váli was quiet then, his head turning away from her as he stared at the space before him, like a proper little guard. Natasha glanced at Hœnir, who was smirking at her, seemingly pleased by her ferocity. He nodded with a small smile, and turned back to his post. Natasha smiled back and began her journey back to her chamber.

~X~

A letter waited for her in her chamber, slid under her door and lying on the stone floor. It was another letter from Clint, once more expressing his desire to see her, and Natasha’s heart dropped when she read his words: “I cannot wait to be in your company once more, to see your smile, hear you laugh. Dearest Natasha, I miss you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I updated sooner than expected this week! WOO!
> 
> Now, please bear with me when it comes to Sigyn. If any of you hate me for what I've done there, just bear with me, I have plans for her. Also with Váli and Hœnir, I basically just took names out of Norse mythology, same with Tyr and Fitch. So I've taken a few liberties, but I've used names which have fit the characters, like Hœnir is the 'silent god' and I've made him rather quiet, so I hope you can... kind of understand what I'm doing here. These two characters probably won't be showing up again, so hopefully they won't bother you much.   
> Also, I realised that I spelled Sigyn's name wrong in the last chapter! I spelled Sign instead, sorry, my keyboard is pretty bad...  
> Urrrm, I hope you guys liked this! Please tell me what you think! x


	11. The Refusal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then how do you see me?” She questioned, almost challengingly. It was a question that had plagued her for some time, the question of Loki’s honest feelings towards her.
> 
> “You will laugh if I tell you.” He smirked, turning away again.
> 
> “Tell me.” She ordered, her own lips forming an intrigued smile. “I promise not to laugh.”
> 
> “No.”
> 
> “How do you see me?” She grinned, awaiting his reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Shit's about to get real. I would just like to say that the goings on in next few chapters were what started this whole fic. So I am super duper excited to write them, and as a result updates may be a little more frequent, especially seeing as I'm going to have two weeks holiday soon, so lots and lots of writing shall be done, and I may even post an Office!AU that I've got int he works. Just a little warning, this fic may be ending soon, as I feeling it drawing to a close in about three more chapter, but maybe more, it depends on how it all goes.

“I received another letter from Barton.” Natasha murmured as she jabbed her needle into her fabric. She had never been very skilled at embroidery, but it was just something to pass the time, to take her mind off of things. Sif was not skilled either, but there they sat, the two of them in the gallery, their stitches uneven and messy.

“So soon?” Sif set her work onto her lap and turned to her friend, concern plain on her features. “But he sent you one the day before.”

“I know.” Natasha sighed, tugging at the thread. “I suppose I should expect to be hearing from him today also.”

“Did you ever reply to him?” Sif inquired, still gazing at Natasha, though the redhead merely continued her work, pulling faces when the thread would tangle.

“No.”

“Good, it would be best to ignore his letters, you do not want to lead him to believe that you return his affections.” Sif picked up her work, seemingly resolved with Natasha’s situation.

“It will not stop the letters.” Natasha countered, still marginally focused on her embroidery. “He has not said anything of it, but I expect he has grown attached to me in some way, romantically.”

“Well, there’s no doubting that. You think he shall remain undeterred?”

“I know he will.” Natasha replied confidently. “He is a man, and they are used to getting what they want.”

“Would you accept him if he asked you?” Sif asked, pausing from her work to glance at Natasha.

Natasha paused too, for the first time in their conversation, she was stumped, for she knew not what she would say if Clint where to propose marriage to her. She did not love Clint, she admired him, enjoyed his company, but that was not love. Could she spend her life without love? Without the passion she found with Loki?

Marrying Clint would complicate things, if they were not complicated enough. Sure, the man could offer her a safe and secure life behind the facade of a happily married couple, but they would never be happy, and Natasha would be estranged from the one man who could make her feel something remotely close to love. Loki.

“I do not wish to think about it.” Natasha responded to Sif’s question, returning to her work and trying to push the thoughts of the prince out of her mind.

“I do not know why you would not.” Sif muttered under her breath. “You are lucky to have such a man as an admirer.”

“I do not wish to think about it.” Natasha repeated, her voice curt and sharp, making it clear that she wished for another topic of conversation. She should never have brought up the letters anyway.

“Think about what?” Natasha rolled her eyes as Sigyn strode into the gallery, her golden dress swaying behind her as she moved. Amora stood beside her, her chin tilted high so to look down upon Sif and Natasha. Since Sigyns arrival, Amora had only gotten worse, her egotistical nature was heightened by the fact that Sigyn had taken a liking to her, leaving Freya to trail behind them like a lost pup.

“It is nothing.” Natasha murmured, returning to her embroidery as a way of telling the two of them that she was not interested in a conversation, yet Sigyn did not seem to care.

“Well it must be something if you are talking about it.” She smiled that sickly sweet smile that held no promise of kindness, only condescension and haughtiness.

“Natasha and Sif never do talk of interesting things, Sigyn, I would not get your hopes up.” Amora chuckled, seating herself gracefully in a chair across from them, Sigyn followed suit, but with a touch more elegance.

“Well I should hope not.” Sigyn huffed, glancing at Natasha in the process, who had looked up from her work briefly and caught her eye. “We shall be spending quite a bit of time together, Natasha.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked, abashed. She set down her work once again, her brow pulled together in a frown.

“Do you enjoy working as Frigga’s handmaiden?” She asked, amusement on her tone that could only mean bad things.

“She is not a handmaiden, she is a lady in waiting.” Sif corrected the princess, her jaw tight in frustration. Sigyn waved away Sif’s interjection with a lazy hand and refocused on Natasha.

“There is little difference.” She smiled.

“Why do you ask?” Natasha questioned. She didn’t like the way Sigyn was looking at her like she was something vulnerable, something she could easily destroy.

“After my marriage –To Loki- you shall be appointed my new handmaiden.” Sigyn replied proudly, her lips curling into a smirk and her disdain for Natasha was evident. “I asked for your services personally.”

“And who did you ask?” Natasha replied with another question, her tone remaining calm, despite the burning anger she felt inside of her. She had always been good at that, hiding her true feelings, it was what made her such a good bluff, she was unreadable.

“King Odin, of course.” Sigyn shrugged as though it were obvious. “He was more than happy to make me more comfortable in my new home.”

Natasha felt as if she could snap at any given moment. Odin. The bastard. He had already sold her to his son, now he sold her to his daughter in law. Who was he to move her around like a worthless pawn in his games? Why her?

“Natasha is no slave to be traded for you benefit.” Sif interjected, she sounded absolutely mortified at the notion, though Natasha did not turn to see her expression, she kept her eyes steadily trained of Sigyn, who stared straight back at her.

“She looks the part.” Amora giggled and Sigyn smirked with her.

“Frigga would never agree to it.” Sif countered.

“Obviously the request went through the queen.” Amora sighed, rolling her eyes at Sif’s incompetence. “Sigyn would not be so rude as to steal her handmaiden with no word.”

The two of them bickered with each other for some time, all the while oblivious to Natasha and Sigyn glaring at each other across the way. Sigyn’s lips quirked into a satisfied smile, she had won. Natasha inhaled sharply as she realised the meaning of Sigyn’s contempt towards her, she knew. Sigyn knew about Natasha’s relationship with Loki, and this was her punishment. That way, Sigyn could keep her eyes on Natasha as much as it pleased her, she could call her to her room every night to keep her away from her husband, and antagonise her in the process.

Natasha’s lips set in a hard line, her jaw clenching, and she could have sworn that she saw Sigyn nod, as though affirming Natasha’s suspicions of her motive. Sif and Amora nattered on with each other, Sif’s tone growing bitterer and sharp, whilst Amora seemed all too amused by the situation.

The doors to the gallery swung open, causing the women to end their confrontation and look up to the young steward walking towards them. He worked for Ivan, that was where she recognised him from, and by the way his attention was fixed on her, Natasha knew he had come with news. Whether it was good or bad was yet to be seen, or perhaps it was not news at all, and the boy could be requesting her presence elsewhere, she hoped that that was the case.

“Ivan has requested you come to his chambers, milady.” He bowed and then straightened his posture, awaiting her reply.

A myriad of thoughts flushed through Natasha’s mind, she had told Ivan that she no longer wished to see him, and she had not seen him in over two weeks. He had not even passed her in the halls, seen her at feasts, so why would he ask for her now? She supposed it had something to do with the royal wedding approaching. Was her task complete? Perhaps she no longer needed to ‘distract’ the prince.

“I will follow you.” Natasha replied, rising from her chair and setting her work down for good onto the small table that divided her and Sigyn. “Sif, may I meet you for a walk later?”

Sif nodded, her brow furrowed in concern once more, for she knew Natasha had been distant from her surrogate father, and she must have thought it was a matter of grave importance that meant Natasha was needed in his rooms.

Natasha followed the boy from the gallery, feeling Sigyn’s eyes on her the whole time, and she suppressed a shudder at the sensation. She glanced back just as she reached the doors, sure enough the three of them were watching her, Sif gave her a meek smile, Amora displayed a look of curiosity, yet Sigyn just glared at her with pure contempt. Natasha had previously thought that the fair princess would improve upon closer acquaintance, though it seemed she was terribly mistaken.

~X~

Natasha walked into Ivan’s chambers, head high, maintaining an air of superiority, for she knew if Ivan wanted something from her, he would have to beg. She was no longer that sad little girl he raised in Midgard. No, she was a woman now, in all aspects. What Loki took from her in innocence, he had replaced with a new found confidence.

There was a crowd of men in Ivan’s sitting room, three of them Natasha recognised as Kvasir, Tyr and Fitch, they turned and nodded as she entered. They stood around the hearth, shielding Ivan from Natasha’s sight, though by what she could see, the men looking down upon something, she could discern that he was sitting in his chair.

“Natasha.” It was a weak and frail voice that called her, barely recognisable, but when the men cleared the way, she saw it was Ivan’s voice.

He looked so changed, thin and pale, purple hues beneath his eyes, his chest rising and falling meekly. He beckoned her over with a long bony finger, his hands were thin too, all of him was. If it weren’t for his familiar ice blue eyes, she would not have known him.

“Ivan?” She rushed to his side, cupping his face in her hands as she knelt beside him. Her brow furrowed with worry and she scrutinised his features. “What has happened to you?”

“Time, my child.” Ivan tried to smile reassuringly, but it only made his powdery face wrinkle in a fearful manner. “It seems that mine is running out.”

“Why did no one tell me of this?” She hissed, whipping her head round to glare at Tyr. She had confided in him with this task, she had seen him most, why had he not told her?

“We were told you wanted nothing to do with him, my lady.” Fitch murmured remorsefully.

“So he is on the verge of death, and you do not tell me?” She struggled to keep her voice calm, but it wavered as she felt hot tears prick her eyes. She looked back to Ivan, who was twirling a lock of her red curls between his fingers lazily. “Ivan, I am so sorry.”

“No, I am sorry Natasha. I should not have asked so much of you.” He wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of his forefinger and smiled. “I put politics before you, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“How long?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Have I got left?” He finished for her. He hesitated, leaning back on his chair as he thought about it. “Eir tells me I have a few weeks, possibly less.”

Natasha let her head drop onto his lap, tears streaming from her eyes, ungoverned. She had reverted back to the girl she had fought so hard to change from. Ivan had done her so much wrong, but he had raised her, he had saved her so many times, how could she not cry? _Let him live,_ She pleaded to the gods. _Please…let him live._

“There was another matter that we wished to discuss.” Tyr informed her, his voice bored and she pulled away from Ivan’s lap to glare at him.

“I’m not interested.” She said to him, turning back to Ivan to see him sigh. He rested a hand on top of her head, gently stroking her hair.

“It is important, Natasha.” He murmured, voice raspy.

Natasha hesitated, finally she sighed as stood up to face the three men head on. A few of the other men in the room bristled, seeming to wonder weather they should stay. Natasha discerned that they knew of her situation, otherwise they would not be present, and she was grateful that they did not look upon her with disgust.

“Go on.” She said impatiently. By the way that the three of them seemed to move on their feet awkwardly, she could tell that she was in for more bad news.

“A few weeks ago, we discussed the matter of your marriage to another, do you remember this?” Tyr asked, he was the only one to look her in the eyes, and she supposed that was what she most admired about the man, he did not try to sweeten something that was already far too sour.

“Yes.”

“Since Loki is to marry the princess Sigyn in a few days time, we thought it best to begin preparations for your own betrothal.” Fitch continued. “We found a suitable match quite a while ago.”

“Who is it?” Natasha questioned impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest. She was successful in hiding her anxiety over the matter. She didn’t want to marry anyone whatsoever, even if was for her safety, she did not wish to be tied down to someone that she didn’t know or care for.

There was a low murmur between the men in the room, and a few of them began to shuffle aside, revealing a man she had not even noticed was in the room, probably one of the last men she had even wanted to be there.

“Clint?” She felt her blood go hot as she watched him come forward sheepishly, fiddling with his hands. “You knew about this?”

“Lord Barton was informed about your position with the prince, and he has accepted our offer for your marriage.” Tyr informed her, eyebrows raised as if challenging her to argue with him. “It is rare that you find someone who will accept such a fault.”

“When did they ask you?” She asked, her voice a harsh whisper as she tried to stifle a scream.

“A few days before I left for Midgard.” Barton replied, looking from his hands to shoot her a sly grin, but that was the last thing she wanted.

Natasha did not waste any time in escaping, barging straight past her future husband and out of the door. She was angry, more than that, she furious. It had been weeks since Barton had left for Midgard, yet he gave her no word about an impending marriage, unless she took the letters he had sent her as a sign.

She did not know why she was so surprised, however, she had expected him to make some sort of proposal towards her, but she did not even know that he was back in Asgard, she did not even know that he was clued in to all of her filthy secrets. It made her feel sick, because it was _her_ body and _her_ mind that these men were using in their plans, yet still they kept so much from her, as if she was not the most crucial part of their scheme.

 She walked out of Ivan’s chambers and kept walking, finding a bench in one of the halls and slumping down into it. She cradled her head in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut, her jaw tensing as she fought the urge to pull on her hair. She hated this. She hated lying to Loki, one of the few people in Asgard who she could trust, and the worst part was that _he_ trusted _her_ , despite the fact that she had been lying to him from the start.

He should have known better. He should have known that any woman at court would not give herself so freely to him without the promise of marriage. But he had been blinded by lust, and she supposed it had been partially her fault, she had done nothing to placate his boyish need. Suddenly she regretted those sideways glances, peering through her lashes, she wished she’d never come to Asgard.

“Natasha?” Clint called, his voice echoed through the halls, and by the way it got louder, and his footsteps more noticeable, she knew he would catch up to her. Natasha decided to stay where she sat; she wanted to talk to him, to speak her mind.

Clint turned the corner and paused, Natasha was staring straight ahead, waiting for him to speak, but she only heard a sigh before he began gingerly stepping towards her. “You didn’t know, did you?”

“No.” Her response was curt and sharp, though she was intrigued by his apologetic tone.

“I thought you knew.” He sighed again, running his hands through his hair. “Gods, what must you have thought of my letters?”

Natasha’s lips quirked into an involuntary smile as a short puff of laughter escaped her. “I admit it was all very disconcerting.”

“I can imagine.” Barton chuckled. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it seems we are both in the dark about this whole situation.” Natasha’s smile fell as a thought came to her. “You must think me disgusting.”

“Should I?”

“Yes, you should not want a wife who has given her most valuable asset to another.” She narrowed her eyes when she noticed him laughing again as he sat down beside her.

“Natasha, that is hardly a valuable asset.” He turned to face her better, though it was difficult when they were sitting beside one another. “You have your wit, your intelligence, you are _amazing_ at shooting arrows.”

“Beginners luck.” Natasha protested with a smile.

“I could teach you, when we are married.” Clint offered sheepishly, his gaze flickered to her hand, wondering whether to reach out and hold it. “If that is what you want.”

“You never said anything in your letters.” Natasha mused, and Clint frowned at the sudden change of subject, though the thought had been on Natasha’s mind for some time during their conversation.

“I shouldn’t have sent them.” Clint replied, his voice quiet. “It only made things more complicated. If I had known…” He paused, sighing again. “I was not allowed to discuss matters of court in my letters, if they were to have gotten into the wrong hands, we all could have found ourselves in a lot of trouble.”

“So why did you write?”

“I wanted to create some kind of grounds for our relationship, there had been little affection before I left.”

“So you can see why I was so perplexed.” Natasha chuckled, and Clint’s face lit up again to hear cheerfulness on her tone. She had not thought about what he had to give up on his end of the bargain, she hardly imagined he agreed to the marriage all too willingly.

“Natasha if you do not wish to do this, I will understand, and I will do my best to defend you when it comes to Ivan and his men.” Clint’s tone sobered, and he finally took her hand, holding it between both of his, as he looked her in the eye with earnest. “But this is the safest way, and in time we may return to Midgard. I have spent my time there with king Fury, he has offered us a place in his court, and a generously sized estate just outside of the palace walls. He heard of your work here, and he’s ready to offer you a similar position, it’s just retelling any intelligence you receive from others at court, but you don’t have to agree, we could have a quiet life, a simple one, if that is what you want.”

“No.” Natasha replied, brow furrowed as she looked back at him. “I don’t want a quiet life. I have spent my life in Midgard, bored out of my wits. I should accept his offer.”

“You would accept?” Clint repeated in disbelief. His lips curled into a pleased smile as he clasped her hands tighter. “You know you do not have to.”

“I want to.” She replied earnestly. “You were right, it would be thoughtless of me to think I could stay here forever, and it is the safest compromise.”

“We do not have to leave so soon.” Clint murmured, picking up on her apprehension. She had indeed been thinking about those she would leave behind. “I am sure there are those you wish to spend more time with.”

“Yes.” She turned away, voice quiet.

“Do you love him?” Clint asked, regretting the question as it passed his lips.

“Would you think me foolish if I said yes?”

“Yes.”

Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping ungracefully. “In truth, I do not know, and I hardly think it proper to be discussing this with my future husband.”

Clint laughed again, he wrapped one arm around her, while his other hand stayed clasped in her own, and pulled her in for an embrace. “I promise to do good by you. I want only for your safety, and your happiness.”

He pulled away to stand, turning back to face her. She smiled up at him, pleased with the fact that if she had to marry, it was to someone as kind as he. “I promise I will not be too trying as a wife.”

“And I a husband.” He laughed. “I’ll go back to tell Ivan that you have consented, and I am sure preparations for the wedding shall be underway soon enough.”

She sighed, knowing how much she was in for. She would be forced to get a dress, organise the ceremony, hopefully she would not have to do too much. Her anxiety only doubled when she heard a quiet footstep to her left down the corridor.

Both she and Clint turned to see Loki making his exit, his face sour.

“How much do you think he heard?” Clint breathed, his jaw slack in surprise.

“If he knew too much we would know.” Natasha muttered, still gazing at the spot where he had once been. Her words sounded far more sinister than anticipated, and she shuddered. Loki could never be frightful; he could never be harsh, could he? “But I fear he heard a considerable amount.”

“He looked upset.” Clint murmured, perturbed. He did not know exactly the extent of his relationship with Natasha.

“I will find him and speak with him.” Natasha sighed, rising from her seat. “He is presumably upset that his latest plaything will not be his for much longer.”

“Does he treat you well?” Clint asked, concern on his brow.

“If he did not, I think I would have been far more willing to accept your offer.”

Clint nodded understandingly and stepped away. “Will you take dinner with me tonight?”

“It depends on what the prince wants.” She replied, her voice uneasy.

“Of course.” Clint bowed his head. “Then I shall see you in time, my lady.”

He kissed her hand and left to find Ivan. Natasha stood alone in the hall, Clint had gone to confront a sickly old man with good news, whilst she had to seek out Loki to placate his palpable anger, or sadness, it all depended on how he felt about her, and he was so hard to read.

~X~

She found him exactly where she had expected to find him, beneath the apple tree in the palace gardens, overlooking the chamomile, lavender, and rosemary. He sat with his back to the tree trunk, resting his elbows on his knees. In one hand he held a small brown ball which his threw upwards and caught with ease, he didn’t even need to look at it, instead his gaze focused on the horizon, his brow’s drawn into a frown and his mouth set in a hard line. He was clearly irked about something, and for a moment, Natasha considered turning back, letting him have his time alone, but instead she persevered, stepping tentatively towards where he sat. He did not turn to look at her, but his gaze flicked towards her briefly and returned to where he had been looking beforehand. She slowly sat down beside him and he began to speak.

“I have leaned of your engagement to Lord Barton.” Loki announced, his voice bored, but there was a touch of bitterness to his tone. “My congratulations.”

Natasha shrugged, examining an apple that had fallen to the ground to cover up her anxiety. “Appreciated.”

“How can you have _him_?” He asked bitterly. She looked up to see him still frowning into the distance, the sun glaring down onto his sharp features. “How can you throw yourself away like that, even with what he can offer you, how can you have _him_?”

“Throw myself away?” Natasha repeated his words, her words a mere breathy whisper. “So I am nothing if not with you?”

“You know I do not mean that.” He assured her, finally turning his head to look at her.

“You are to marry your princess, I am to marry my lord. It is how it must be.” She sighed, throwing the apple to the ground in disdain. She shrugged again. “Who knows, perhaps it will be nice to be someone’s wife, as opposed to their whore.”

“You are not my _whore_.” Loki replied, articulating the last word with resent. “You know I do not see you that way.”

“Then how do you see me?” She questioned, almost challengingly. It was a question that had plagued her for some time, the question of Loki’s honest feelings towards her.

“You will laugh if I tell you.” He smirked, turning away again.

“Tell me.” She ordered, her own lips forming an intrigued smile. “I promise not to laugh.”

“No.”

“How do you see me?” She grinned, awaiting his reply.

“As the woman I love.” He said sadly, turning to face her with an apologetic expression.

Natasha froze, her grin widening. It was like something out those books she had read back in Midgard as a girl. Princes professing their love to young maidens with low fortune, she had always dismissed them as stupid fairytales, but now it was actually happening. Somewhat different than what she had expected, but it was happening nonetheless. “You’re laughing.” He frowned, turning away again disappointedly.

“No.” She laughed, cupping his face in her hands. “I am happy, I thought that I was alone in my feelings for you, but you return them.”

“You love me?” He asked disbelievingly.

“If I did not, why do you think I would come to your room each night?” She rolled her eyes and pulled away with a smirk.

“Well, I did like to think I was just _that_ good.” He winked, eliciting an inelegant snort to escape Natasha.

“Your ego knows no bounds.” She smiled.

Loki sprung to his feet, turning to stand in front of her, grin wide on his face. “Run away with me Natasha.” He rasped excitedly.

“What?”

“Run away with me.” He repeated, crouching down in front of her. “Soon, before my wedding, we can run away, escape Asgard.”

“Loki, I hardly think…”

“Just think of it, we can leave, visit new realms, find the cities we only hear about in books of legend.” He took both of her hands in a hasty motion, pulling them to his lips as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Loki, someone will see.” She warned him.

“Let them see.” He murmured against her skin. “Let my father know that I do not care for what he has planned for me, let him know that as long as you live, I will not marry Sigyn.”

“I would probably have me killed as a result.”

“Tonight, we can go tonight.”

“Loki.” She stopped him, rising to stand with him. “I cannot.”

“Why?” He asked, but his excitement at the prospect remained undamaged by her refusal. “Natasha we could start over, just you and I.”

“I cannot leave Asgard, there is too much here.” She told him, attempting to reduce his enthusiasm. He was like a child being told they would be given a gift, and she couldn’t refuse him when he was so excited.

“There is nothing for us here.” He frowned, calming somewhat. “Don’t you see? You are the only reason that I stay here, and now that you love me, we may go together.”

“And what of the queen, your mother, Loki, do you not love her? Thor? Odin? They are your family.” She protested.

“They do not act like it.” He muttered sourly. “What sort of father gives his son away to some strange woman from another land?”

“A father who is also a king.” She whispered, rubbing his arm gently. “And I must stay for Ivan, he is sick, I cannot leave him.”

“Ivan? That decrepit man on my fathers council? What has he ever done for you, you say you never talk to him, why should you give up everything for him?”

“Why should I give up everything for you?” She shot back angrily. “He raised me, Loki, even when it was not his duty to. He looked upon me and saw a frightened orphan and he took me in, and for that I am grateful, I owe him a debt.”

“So you will stay as my mothers lady in waiting, living a life you hate instead of seeking out a better one?” He looked utterly confused, stepping back to scrutinise her, as though to detect some kind of falseness in her façade.

“Actually, I am to be your wife’s handmaiden.” Natasha divulged with a sigh, having forgotten that unfortunate fact. “She asked for me personally.”

“Out of spite, you think?”

“Of course.” Natasha shrugged. “It is clear that she senses something between us, she is trying to pull us apart.”

“She _is_ clever.” Loki mused.

“You two should be very happy then.” She bit off angrily. “I will see you at your wedding.”

She moved to walk away, but Loki grabbed her by the wrist gently, pulling her back to him. “Come to my chambers tonight.” He pleaded, resting his head in the crook of her neck. “Please?”

“I can’t.” She replied. “I am to have dinner with Barton.”

With that Loki snapped his head up, fixing her with a steely glare. “Then go. Dine with your husband and make many children with him, see if I give a damn.”

He walked away, fists curled at his side, and not sparing one glance over his shoulder until he was completely out of sight.


	12. Break Your Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You and Barton make a brilliant pair.” He murmured sardonically.
> 
> “That is fortunate.” She replied over her shoulder. “As we are to marry soon enough.”
> 
> “You told me once that he was just a friend of yours.” Loki continued, his voice a little sharper at her reply. “What changed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a long one. I got a little carried away.. whoopsie. I would have published this sooner, but I've been taking evening classes for the past two weeks, and that kind of delayed me a bit. I had planned to publish it on Sunday, but alas, here we are. I hope the wait was worth it though! I'm getting much more excited about the chapters to come, some of the evens coming up are the reasons I wrote this fic, I've had them in my head for months, so let's just hope they translate well on paper.

The next few days went by agonizingly slow. Natasha spent each night alone in the cold confines of her rooms, for Loki had managed to cut off all ties from her. She had refused to seek him out in the library, she would not give him the satisfaction of having her apologise for something that was not her fault. She could not help whom she married, she could not help having to marry at all, and if anyone could understand such a situation, it should have been him. But, alas, Loki kept himself hidden, and Natasha did not care to find him. Besides, if she was going to marry, she was happy it would be with Clint. He was not perfect, and she did not hold anything but the upmost respect for him, but he was safe, and he was kind. She supposed she could marry without love, as so many had done before her, even the queen, and she seemed rather content with her position, although she was the queen, and some pairings did have more perks than others. But Clint could promise her a generously sized estate, a respectable place in Midgards court, and even the possibility of a job, working for King Fury. So the prospect of marriage was not so daunting to her after all, but perhaps a little exciting.

Sif, however, did not share her view, and when hearing of Natasha’s inevitable move from Asgard, she had begged her to stay. “You do not love him, Natasha. To marry him would be foolish!” Sif shouted over the clang of metal on metal. She grunted as she swung her sword at the redhead. “There are plenty of men here in Asgard that you have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, either one could be the man you love.”

Natasha’s sword hit Sif’s with a mighty clang, and using all of her force, she managed to knock the blade out of her friend’s hand and onto the floor. Her victory was short lived when she realised that Sif had been merely distracted by the idea of her only friend leaving for good.

The two of them stood in the centre of the training grounds, completely alone. No one really came out to train at such a late hour, most guards were taking their dinner before they had to go to their posts, and warriors were tired from training since the break of dawn. But Natasha had been restless from her day, first discovering she was to be moved to work for Sigyn, then becoming engaged to Clint, finding out about Ivan’s appalling health, and then to top it all off, she had driven a wedge the size of the entire realm between Loki and herself. Needless to say, she had some issues to relieve herself of, and Sif was more than willing to help, though Natasha had wished that their conversation had not turned so sour.

Sif sighed and picked up her sword, casting an irritated expression at her opponent. “Had enough for today?” Natasha asked, managing a smile.

“Of training, yes, but do not think that I am done with this conversation.” Sif told her, wagging her sword at her accusingly. “Would you care to explain how you would cope without my company?”

“I would write to you each day.” Natasha smiled, throwing an arm around Sif’s neck lazily. “And I am sure Barton would be more than willing to invite you to stay.”

“I hear the ladies in Midgard are nearly as bad as those we must endure here.”

“Careful, I am from Midgard, you know.” Natasha warned her with a smirk. She was glad to have her mind off of more pertinent matters, and engage with something more trivial.

“And I from Asgard, though sometimes there are exceptions.” Sif replied, her voice was stern, though Natasha could easily detect the way her lips threatened to quirk into a smile.

“I am to meet Lord Barton for dinner tonight, but I shall see you tomorrow morning.” Natasha informed her friend as she parted from her and made to leave the grounds.

“You are making a mistake.” Sif called after her, and when Natasha was out of sight, Sif slumped down into a bench and sighed. She would be alone again.

Natasha had dined with Clint and surprisingly enjoyed each moment. He had not tried to stretch for a romantic atmosphere, instead it was friendly, and peaceful, just as she hoped their relationship would be. It was her opportunity to get to know him, and for him to get to know her.

She was not called to Loki’s chambers, nor Frigga’s, though Fulla stopped by her room as Natasha prepared to dine with Clint, telling her that the queen wished to give her some time with her betrothed. It was kind of her, Natasha supposed, but she knew that Frigga would be somewhat hurt by the way Natasha wished to marry so soon and leave her son.

~X~

On her second day without Loki, Natasha made plans to go walking with Clint. He brought with him two bows and a quiver filled with several arrows.

“I thought I would make good on my promise to teach you a little better.” He grinned, passing her a bow.

“We’re going hunting?” Natasha asked excitedly, a wide grin blooming on her lips.

Clint chuckled and shook his head. “Not yet, first I’ve got to get you good enough.”

“I seemed good enough when I struck that doe between its eyes.” Natasha raised a brow as Clint’s laughter continued. “Do you not remember?”

“I do remember, it was very impressive, but I also remember you telling me it was beginners luck.”

“False modesty.” She muttered, and Clint laughed all the more.

“Practice first, hunting second.” He grinned as he slung the quiver of arrows over his shoulder.

The two of them walked out of the courtyard, conversing as they walked. Natasha was so engrossed in Clint’s conversation, she barely realised where he was leading her. It was not until they had arrived that she realised they were under the canopy of trees, overlooking the palace from the great height of the hill.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Clint smiled over to her proudly. “I stumbled across it on my last visit. There’s just something about it, it’s like you’re a hundred miles away from Asgard. All that stress, the politics the festivities, there don’t seem to come out this far. It’s detached.”

“Yes.” Was Natasha’s curt response. She didn’t like it there, not anymore, and her feeling of uneasiness was only reinforced by the sensation of someone watching her. She looked over to Clint, who gazed at her with some confusion, but the sensation never left. It was an unwelcome feeling, as though her watcher wished something cruel upon her.

“Are you alright?” Clint asked, turning towards her fully to scrutinise her expression.

She trained her expression to one of contentment and turned to lord Barton with a forced smile. “I’m fine.” She replied, and he seemed to believe her, if the way his lips returned to their endearing smile was anything to go by. “It takes your breath away, does it not?”

“That’s why I brought you here, I thought you should see Asgard from a better perspective before we leave.” He stepped towards her, his shoulder touching hers.

“This only makes it worse.” Her answer was quiet, like breath leaving her lungs. She glanced over to Clint, whose lips had set in a firm line. “Not that I dread leaving with you, it is just that…”

“I know.” Clint interjected, flashing her a toothy grin. “The palace in Midgard cannot compare to that.” He gestured to the golden palace, small in the distance.

“But I do look forward to becoming acquainted with the king.” She smiled.

“He is firm, but he is a just king.” Clint murmured. “My belongings from York are being moved to our new estate, they should be there when we arrive.”

“A new life.” Natasha remarked with a quirk of her lips.

“There was another reason that I brought you here, if you remember.” Clint chuckled, lifting his bow into her line of vision.

They spent the next few hours practicing archery. Clint tied a target, fashioned out of old fabric, to one of the trees and told her to aim for the circle in the centre. She perfected it rather quickly, and Clint asked, more than once, if she had been practicing during his absence.

“I’m just a fast learner, I suppose.” She smirked over her shoulder, aiming at the tree once again.

For the entirety of their time under the orchard of trees, Natasha could still feel the unwanted gaze upon her. After some time of it’s relentless sensation, she put it down to feeling unwell. She had not slept well that night, whether it was the cold, the noise from the courtyard, or simply the fact that she did not have Loki’s arms wrapped around her, she had had little sleep.

“May we go back?” She asked, lowering her bow and turning to face Barton. She knew fully well that it was not an ailment that made her feel uneasy. “I feel unwell.”

“What is wrong?” Clint inquired, touching her forehead with the back of his fingers to check for sickness.

“I am merely tired.” She laughed, knocking his hand away playfully.

“Okay.” He grinned. “You hit the centre of the target, and we can go back.”

“Deal.” She grinned. Without hesitation she turned back to the tree and shot an arrow. It sailed through the air and pierced the targets centre with a low thud. Natasha turned back to Clint with a smirk. “Let’s go.”

Clint laughed as he stared at the arrow incredulously and once more asked if she had been practicing without him. He plucked the arrow from the tree with ease, despite it having sunk deep into the trees bark, and slipped it back into his quiver.

As they began to return to the palace, Clint stepped back and looked down upon the palace once more. “Gods.” He muttered, his lips curling into a smile.

“What?” Natasha asked curiously. Clint pointed down towards the roads leading to the palace, and Natasha followed his gesture to see a procession of carriages, horsemen and wagons all leading up to Asgard’s walls. “Who are they?”

“Guests.” He smiled. “That’s he banner for House Stark.” He grinned, pointing towards a section of the procession that carried red and gold banners, though it was difficult to see from such a distance.

“They are back so soon? It has scarcely been a month since they left!” She laughed in disbelief.

“The royal wedding came as a surprise to all.” Clint divulged, still smiling down at the ant sized men marching below them. “But lord Stark never misses a good celebration, and especially one in Asgard. He likes the wine here.”

“Who else has come?” She asked, forgetting about the feeling of uneasiness, and giving into her curiosity.

“Stark would have brought Banner and Rogers with him.” Clint mused, his smile widening at the thought. “That’s the house of Xavier, no doubt Charles has brought all of his company with him, a strange multitude of people.” He pointed to another group. “That is the royal family and court of Vanaheim, and that is…” Clint paused, his finger trailing away from where he pointed. “Midgard.”

“Midgard?” Natasha repeated. “Of course, I should have recognised the banners, the sigil of House Fury. Is he attending?”

“No, I asked when I saw him last and he said he had business to attend at court.” Clint replied, his gaze following the last portion of the procession. They held dark banners, blue and silver in colour, with the sigil of an eagle the centre.

“Then who has come?”

“I imagine it is the lady Jane.” Clint sighed.

“Thor’s betrothed?” Natasha felt a weight in her gut, and all thoughts lead to Sif. Poor Sif, who would soon be experiencing what she had feared most. All she could hope for was that Jane was nothing like Sigyn. “What is she like?”

“She is beautiful, smart, and one of the kindest women you shall meet.” Clint told her. “Though I do not think Thor will care for such things. He has expressed many times just how little he wishes to marry.”

“You believe that he will grow to resent her?”

“Do you think that Loki loves  _his_  betrothed?” Clint asked, raising a brow. Natasha felt the odd sensation again, this time it seemed to burn her, anticipating her response, and in that moment, she knew who it was. Loki was always skilled in the art of silence.

“Let us return.” Natasha whispered, nudging Clint subtly. He looked at her with confusion, but he soon registered what was troubling her, and realisation dawned on his features.

“Of course, my lady.” He murmured, moving quickly to pick up his belongings.

He ushered her swiftly from the clearing, leading her back onto a path that lead straight to Asgard. The feeling of being watched soon fell from Natasha’s senses and she let out a sigh of relief. Clint seemed to experience it too, and hastily looked around him before turning to her as they walked.

“How long do you think he had been watching us?” He asked, his voice a whisper.

“The whole time.” Natasha said slowly and quietly. “I felt it the whole time.”

“Why did you not say anything?”

“I did, didn’t I?” She snapped. “I asked for us to leave.”

“The man must hate me.” Clint muttered to himself, and Natasha rolled her eyes. “I am taking you away from him after all.”

“I think he hates us both, to be quite honest.” She muttered under her breath. She was rushing to return to the palace, almost tripping on rocks as she went. She felt dirty, as though she had done some great wrong, and all she wanted was to return to her rooms and bathe, though she knew the baths would not be so nice as Loki’s private one, where the floor was covered in shining green tiles and the pillars were painted with a rare golden sheen. The baths she used were public for the ladies in waiting, and never seemed to have the soaps and salts that Loki procured, though often Eir would sneak her some soothing concoction she had made in the healing chambers, Natasha would usually just give it to Sif, Natasha had Loki’s bath to use after all, though now, without him, she decided to keep it for herself.

“He was angry when you saw him last, I presume?”

“More than that.” She replied. “I think he never wishes to see me again.”

~X~

By the time they returned to the palace, the procession of visitors had only just made it into the courtyard. The place was busy, awfully so, and the two of them had a difficult time finding their way to the stairs that would lead to the castle doors. Natasha took Clint’s hand and pulled him through the crowds, ignoring the greetings and rude remarks they gained as they pushed their way through. They eventually came to stand before the steps, only to find the royal family standing high and mighty above them. Frigga and Odin stood beside one another at the top of the stairs, the latter with a stony look upon his features, and it was rare that he had anything other than such a look. The princes flanked their parents, Thor looked proud as he grinned down at the guests, recognising many as his friends, whilst Loki grimaced at the sight.

How Loki had reached the palace before them was a mystery to Natasha, unless he had not been watching them at all. She shook the paranoia from her mind, glancing up at him once again, only to find him glaring right back at her. His gaze flickered to where her hand was still entangled with Clint’s and his eyes flashed with ire, his lips tightening into a firm line. Loki drew his gaze back up to Natasha, though she refused to let go of Clint’s hand, she would not let him control her. She stared back at him, her features holding no expression.  _Let him make what he wants of that_. She thought.  _Let_ that _be his distraction_.

Odin welcomed the guests in a surprisingly warm manner, expressing his joy for the upcoming union of two realms, and how pleased he was to share it with them. Not once did he express pride for his son’s accomplishments, nor how he had handled being thrown into matrimony so easily, instead the king remarked of Sigyns beauty, and her ‘remarkable strength.’

Odins gaze found Natasha’s as he uttered the last words of his speech. “I am sure that Sigyn is the finest match for my son, and they shall share a love unlike any other.”

Natasha felt her jaw harden without consent, but she continued to glare at the man she had to call king.

After his speech, Odin retreated indoors, making it clear that if any guests wished to be greeted by him personally, they should seek him out themselves. Thor ran down the steps, enveloping Lord Rogers in a gleeful embrace and pulling Banner in to join them. It had been little more than a month, yet he was still joyously celebrating their reunion.

“What do we have here?” Lord Stark asked from behind the pair. He watched with a smirk as Natasha drew her hand away from Clint’s sheepishly. “Am I to expect another wedding?”

“Indeed you are.” Clint smiled, letting Stark bring him in for a hug.

“Barton, I need you back at court.” Stark moaned. “Rogers and Banner can be such tedious company.”

“I am afraid that if you want for my company you shall have to go to Midgard to get it.” Clint smirked, pulling away from the embrace.

Natasha was only half listening, her attentions caught on Loki and Sigyn slowly making their way through the crowds, her arm looped gracefully around his. She caught his eye again, but this time he did not glare, only stare at her with half-hidden longing.

~X~

Lady Jane turned out to be as kind and gentle as Clint had said she would be. She introduced herself to Frigga’s ladies with a small curtsey and a smile. Sif, however, was not convinced, she kept to herself as they sat in the gallery, as Amora began making plans to make Jane her new companion. Needless to say, Freya had been left behind since the arrival of Sigyn long ago.

But Jane kept up conversation with everyone, seemingly interested in the goings on at Asgard, and not once mentioning the fact that she would be their queen someday. She was immaculately humble, unlike Sigyn, who strode into he room, head held proudly as usual.

Sigyn took her seat, not bothering to introduce herself to Jane, and probably thinking she was some new handmaiden, and no one of importance. As Jane was asking Natasha what the grounds were like, Sigyn decided to interrupt.

“Speaking of grounds, I have just visited one of the most beautiful parts of Asgard.” She smiled, eyes glancing at Natasha for the briefest of moments, which told her that fresh new taunts were to come. “Prince Loki took me walking to some beautiful clearing, where the trees make sort of natural marquee. It was indeed rather romantic.”

Sif looked over to Natasha and laughed, catching Sigyn’s attention in a heartbeat. “We’ve been there, it is indeed beautiful.”

“On one of your walks I presume.” Amora added with a tone of disgust.

Natasha looked back at Sif, knowing that neither could divulge the information that it was Loki and Thor who took them there, seeing as their betrothed were listening intently. Natasha knew why Loki had decided to take Sigyn there. It was no act of love or romance, but way to hurt her. He knew how Sigyn loved to lord over everyone, especially after Natasha had told him such when they had lay beside each other in his bed, and after seeing her with Clint, he probably wanted to make her feel as bad as he had.

“I should very much like to take a walk of the grounds.” Jane murmured, mostly to herself. “Asgard is so beautiful in comparison to Midgard.”

“Indeed, it is.” Natasha smiled in return. Jane was too likable to ignore. “I have not stayed long here yet, though I believe I may have forgotten what Midgard looked like when I left. Asgard is so vast, so impressive, it is easy to forget ones past in someplace else.”

“You came from Midgard too?” Jane asked, and her curiosity piqued. A smile curved on her lips when she realised she had someone to talk to about her home.

“Yes, Asgard is beautiful.” Sigyn sighed tiredly as she interrupted once again. “But it cannot compare to Vanaheim, and I do not think I shall ever forget such a place in my entire life.”

“I am to return to Midgard after my wedding.” Natasha replied quietly, ignoring Sigyn’s interference.

“Oh.” Jane replied disappointedly. “Then you shall take me for many walks and tell me all about yourself before you must leave.” She insisted with a smile. “If you would not mind.”

“I would not mind at all, and I do hope neither would Sif.” Natasha replied, turning to her friend, who looked up at the mention of her name, eyebrows raised in confusion. It was clear she had not been listening.

“What?” She asked, bewildered. Jane giggled, and covered her grin with an elegant hand.

“Would you mind terribly if I were to join you for a light hearted escapade around the grounds sometime?” Jane smiled, hope in her eyes that made Natasha want to beg Sif to consent.

Sif looked around her, still with an expression of bemusement on her features. She noted Sigyn’s look of boredom and Amora’s smirk. She looked at Natasha, who, though trained her expression to one of interest, was clearly wishing for her to agree. “No, I would not mind at all, my lady.”

“Please, call me Jane.” She replied, grinning from ear to ear. “How exciting.” She exclaimed, throwing her hands onto her lap with enthusiasm.

Sigyn excused herself after a moment, after realising that all the attention seemed to be upon Jane. When she had discovered that the woman was to marry Thor, she had kept her expression plain, not letting anyone know it was the first she had heard of it, though Natasha could see right through her façade. It made her chuckle to herself, and that was presumably one of the reasons Sigyn had left.

~X~

“I’ll admit it, I like her.” Sif smiled softly as the she walked with Natasha to their chambers. “I cannot hate her for anything, she did not choose to marry Thor, she cannot help her position.”

“And she is so kind.” Natasha mused.

It grew late, the sun beginning to set in the sky and guests preparing for bed. Natasha and Sif had dined together in a small chamber, to avoid the rowdy guests as they feasted. Their dinner had not consisted of much, but they did not mind, they could not eat when they knew they would be forced to eat masses of food the day next, the wedding feast.

Servants had been running about the place, red-faced with stress and fear, carrying large platters of foods, huge casks of ale and fruits from the gardens. Hunting parties had gone out each day to pick the forest clean from game. No doubt there would be enough food to go around.

“What I like best about her, is that she does not flaunt her position of power.” Sif continued. “If you met her without knowledge of her position, you would never guess that she would be marrying the eldest prince of Asgard.”

“And she seems to dislike Sigyn and Amora as much us we do.” Natasha laughed, and Sif snorted in response.

“Yes, it would be good to have the future queen on our side when it comes to such matters.” She grinned, taking Natasha’s arm. She seemed to sober up, her features relaxing into seriousness. “And yet, I cannot bear to be in her presence.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every time I look at her, all I see is the woman who has taken something from me, be it on purpose or by accident, it does not matter.”

“Sif, you cannot hate her for such things.” Natasha sighed, rubbing her thumb against Sif’s arm as it was linked with hers.

“I do not  _hate_  her.” Sif replied sharply, drawing her arm away. “And besides, you hate Sigyn for marrying Loki.”

Natasha froze, staring at Sif in utter bewilderment. She knew? “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, do no lie to me, I am not inane, Natasha.” Sif hissed angrily. “I saw the two of you at the feast all those weeks back when the princes returned from battle. I saw the two of you when Thor took us up to the clearing under the trees. The two of you are thick as thieves, but you should know as well as I that nothing shall come of it.”

“You do not know what you are talking about Sif, I suggest you-”

“He is a spiteful man, Natasha.” Sif interrupted. “Count yourself lucky that you are not the one to marry him tomorrow, unlike Sigyn.”

And with that, Sif strode away, purpose in each step, her ebony hair swaying violently as she went. Natasha groaned to herself, she hated arguing with Sif, the woman was her closest friend, but she could be extraordinarily cruel when she wanted to be.

~X~

The ceremony was to be held in the sacred chamber, a large, spacious room, illuminated by the many candles spread about the place and the afternoon sun glittering through the impressively large stained glass window that was situated above the alter. The ceiling was exceedingly high, sloping at the sides to crate a dome effect, and painted with some of the most beautiful colours to depict the many gods that Asgard and many other realms prayed to.

Natasha sat on her bed in her chambers, half dressed, her hair still messy and wild, but she could not bring herself to prepare for the tortuous day ahead. She would see Loki wed, to  _Sigyn_  no less. Loki, the only man in Asgard whom she could fully trust, whom she loved and admired above everyone. He would be hers no longer.

When there was a slight tap on the door, Natasha recognised it to be Fulla, she called for the girl to enter. Fulla crept in, her hands moving from where she held the door to rest behind her back, one hand holding a small box, hidden from view.

“What is it Fulla?” Natasha asked, in no mood for pleasantries on that particular day.

“Many of the guests are preparing to attend the ceremony.” Fulla muttered quietly. “I did not see you with some of Frigga’s ladies, I wondered if you were alright.”

Natasha smiled meekly beneath her bundles of red hear that hung around her face like wild fire. “Thank you.”

“Would you like help preparing yourself?” She asked sheepishly, and Natasha looked up at her, a curious glint in her eyes. When she merely saw the girl shifting on her feet awkwardly, Natasha’s softened and smiled again.

“Yes, thank you.”

Fulla got to work quickly, bringing forth Natasha’s red silk gown from her wardrobe and laying it down upon the bed for Natasha to dress into. When she had slipped into the gown, a one-shouldered dress, with golden lace on the hems, Fulla guided her to her small vanity, a modest comparison to Frigga’s, and began taming Natasha’s red curls.

It felt as though no time had passed at all until Natasha looked up into the mirror before her and saw her reflection. A smile bloomed on her lips involuntarily at the sight of herself. Her hair was plaited crown braid, with soft wisps of hair framing her face. Her lips were painted with an intoxicatingly deep shade of red, and a modestly sized ruby necklace hung around her neck. She was not going to deny that she looked beautiful, as she never had many chances to think such things. Natasha stood, smiling at Fulla with thanks.

“You look radiant.” Fulla whispered, looking over her good work her lips twisting into a pleased smile.

“Thanks to you.” Natasha added. Fulla merely shook her head, a small chuckle on her lips however, and Natasha supposed it was enough.

“Wait.” Fulla murmured, stopping Natasha as she tried to leave. “There is something more.” The girl went to retrieve the box she had brought with her and handed it to Natasha. “Frigga sends you this, she said it belonged to your mother.”

Natasha opened the box, to reveal what looked like a belt. Small plates of pure gold, linked together, in the centre of the belt, the clasp, was a ruby, made to look like a sharpened hourglass, like two triangles balancing on each others tips.

“That is the sigil of House Romanov.” Fulla informed her, pointing at the ruby. “Frigga kept this as a keepsake, in memory of your mother. She asked me to give it to you, as you will be aiding her no longer.”

“Is it a sign of gratitude or an apology?” Natasha asked quietly, not expecting an answer.

“The queen did not give you to Sigyn willingly, but matters were to be taken to make the princess as comfortable as possible.” Fulla responded, defending her queen. “Put it on. You will be late to the ceremony.”

Natasha fastened the belt around her waist, pleased to find it a perfect fit. She smiled at Fulla and thanked her again, before heading out the door and to the sacred chamber.

She patted her hair nervously as she waited by the entrance, it was ridiculous, she knew, it was not her wedding after all, but still, she could not fight the growing nerves fluttering violently in her belly.

“My lady.” Clint smiled as he approached her. “I see you are as late as I.”

“Oh, thank the gods.” Natasha breathed a sigh of relief as she turned to see him walking towards her. He looked dashing in his formal robes, a deep purple and blue cape slung over one shoulder, clasped together by a silver pin in the shape of a hawk. “I feared I should have to walk in there alone.”

“Then it seems my timing is perfect, unlike what I thought before I arrived.” He smirked, giving her his arm, and she took it willingly, nodding at the guards to allow them in.

The room hushed as they entered, and the guests turned to see them, expecting it to be Sigyn. There was no disappointment on their faces however, and they all seemed to be admiring the pair as they walked arm in arm to their seats. Natasha looked up briefly to the alter, sure enough, Loki was glaring down upon them, his sharp features fierce, even in the soft, late-morning light.

“Does he have  _any_ other expression?” Clint asked quietly, but Natasha did not smile at the jibe. Loki was not innocent, but that did not mean he was not allowed to be upset, and he had told her, profusely, just how little he wanted to marry Sigyn.

They took their seats beside Lord Stark and his Lady Virginia Pepper, an elegant woman, whom Natasha was little acquainted with, though she would not regret knowing her better. She smiled at them as they sat down, and mouthed a greeting as Stark slapped Clint’s arm as a show of boyish affection for one another, it made the two women giggle somewhat, until they remembered the silence in the rest of the chamber.

Sigyn entered, and the room filled with small, hushed murmurs, discussing her beauty. She did indeed look beautiful. Her golden hair plaited into a rose-stem braid, her cheeks rosy. Her dress was magnificent. The train seemed to go on for miles, fashioned out of the finest silks, with sleeves made of lace, and a golden pendant that hung from her neck.

Natasha looked to Loki, who looked completely and utterly bored. His gaze locked with hers, and deciding to lighten his mood somewhat, she gave him a small, encouraging smile. He looked away, but she did not miss the very quick look of fear that flashed across his face for less than a second. Her heart went out to him, despite his foul mood with her and Barton, despite him trying to upset her by taking Sigyn to the canopy of trees, despite everything. She loved Loki, it was undeniable, and so she could not stay angry with him for long, not really.

The ceremony dragged on for what felt like five hours, but had only been one and a half. After all the prayers, and the rituals were complete, Loki took Sigyn by the arm and stiffly began walking her down the isle. The guests rose to their feet, applauding, cheering, and whistling in celebration, some men even slapped Loki on the back as they passed, only to receive a cold glare from the groom.

“Thank the gods that it is over.” Lord Stark sighed with a grin. “I thought I would fall asleep. I am sure our wedding was not so long.” He turned to Lady Virginia, who pursed her lips in order to conceal a smirk.

“Asgardian families have  _Asgardian_  rituals, my love.” She replied, her tone a little condescending, and it made Natasha like her all the more.

“We attend the feast now.” Volstagg chimed in with a smile, turning from where he sat in front of them. “So all that waiting was worth it.”

“Yes, all that sitting around surely built up a raging appetite.” Clint chuckled.

Natasha drew away from the conversation, her eyes scanning the crowds of people until they found Frigga, standing beside the dais with the king and conversing with the royal family of Vanaheim. Frigga’s eyes locked with hers before Natasha could look away, so she managed a small nod in thanks for her gift. Frigga nodded back, a gentle smile on her lips, but there was sorrow in her eyes.

The guests were lead into the dining hall, where many feasts had been held. The room was laden with reefs of brightly coloured flowers, exquisite table ornaments, and a delicious scent of food hung in the air, eliciting a low groan from Volstagg.

“Gods, where do we start?” He murmured under his breath, and walked to the closest table, beckoning Fandrall and Hogunn to join him.

Clint took Natasha by the arm and led her to a lengthy table with Lord Stark and Virginia. Rogers and Banner had already seated themselves, and a lady with dark brown hair sat beside them.

“My lady!” Steve Rogers exclaimed, standing from his seat to approach her. “It has been too long!”

“It is good to see you, my lord.” Natasha smiled as she took her seat.

“This is Lady Maria.” Banner smiled, gesturing towards the woman beside him. “A good friend of Lady Virginia.”

“I begged Pepper to bring me with her.” Maria smiled, sending a mischievous smile towards her friend. “I could not miss such an extravagant event.”

“And we shall be staying to bear witness to your union with Lord Barton.” Lady Virginia, who preferred the name Pepper, informed her with an excited look in her eyes. Natasha had the grace to smile sweetly in reply despite feeling somewhat less excited about the impending wedding than Pepper.

Sif came to join them at their table, giving Natasha a small nod as a form of apology, which Natasha took wholeheartedly. Sif was often far too proud to apologise for silly arguments. Though she kept her distance, conversing with Lord Rogers and Lady Maria from time to time, and remaining somewhat quiet with Natasha.

Lord Stark was the loudest at their table, drinking and joking, and even singing at one point, encouraging the rest of them to join him, though, they merely looked at him with embarrassment, and laughter that was unsuccessfully hidden.

“For a king, Lord Stark, you certainly do act like the common folk.” Natasha jested, eliciting a roar of laughter from their tablemates.

“I would not regard myself as a  _king_ , per say.” Stark replied, reaching behind him to grab another goblet of wine from a passing serving girls tray. “York is a very small, sister realm to Midgard. Fury has a majority of the power over York, yet I am indeed the ‘King of The Realm.’”

“You say it with such distaste.” Natasha frowned, finding it difficult to imagine ruling a realm could be bad.

“It is tiresome work.” Stark replied. “Which is why I enjoy the visits to Midgard. One may be treated like a king, yet he has no duties, and may drink to his hearts desire.”

“You drink to your hearts desire whenever you please.” Lady Virginia pointed out with a smirk. “You hardly need Asgard as and excuse!”

The table erupted into laughter again, and even Natasha laughed with them, having drunk enough to forget her worries, and completely miss the various looks that Loki was sending her way.

The dancing began when the food had finished being served, though, there was still a plentiful amount leftover on the tables, but it seemed that most guests could not eat another crumb. Natasha danced with Clint, evoking strange squeaks of pleasure to escape Pepper’s lips as she watched them, even Lady Jane, who stood by her side, was grinning at the pair. She danced a few more dances with Fandral, Lord Rogers and a Lord Coulson, who had come to send King Fury’s regards. He was kind company, albeit, he was all business, explaining how much he looked forward to her joining the court of Midgard, and how Fury was eager to meet her.

After a great many dances, Natasha retired back to her chair, deciding to watch the energetic dancing from afar, as she was far too tired to take part again. She heard someone slip into the chair behind her, though she kept her attention at the dancers. By the way the hair stood up on the back of her neck, she could tell who it was. Loki always seemed to have some physical effect on her, no matter the distance.

“You look very beautiful.” She heard him say, his words were slurred, and there was a slight smell of wine and mead that had arrived with him.

“Thank you.” She whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the music and rowdy chatter.

“How are you faring, my lady?”

“Well.” She kept her answers curt, her eyes darting around the room in case anyone was watching them, but everyone seemed to be too absorbed in their own business to notice the prince.

“You and Barton make a brilliant pair.” He murmured sardonically.

“That is fortunate.” She replied over her shoulder. “As we are to marry soon enough.”

“You told me once that he was just a friend of yours.” Loki continued, his voice a little sharper at her reply. “What changed?”

“He proposed.”

“I would have thought that I was enough.”

She cast him look over her shoulder, it was a mix between incredulity and anger. “I love you, Loki, but I must marry Clint if I wish for a safer life. Unfortunately, it is one of the few options for a woman. Either that or become an old maid, or stay a whore to the prince, never knowing who will find out, or when.”

“I would offer you marriage if I could.” Loki replied, looking at her through his lashes stubbornly. “I would offer you the world if I had it at my disposal.”

“It is too late now.” Natasha whispered, her voice unable to go any higher, lest it break into cries.

“I asked you before it was too late, and you turned me down.” He said coldly. “If you wish for a better life, with me in it, you should only blame yourself.”

“I wish for so many things, Loki.” Natasha turned her attention back to the crowd, but fully aware that he hung on her words. “I wish for Sif to find happiness with a man she loves, I wish for Jane and Thor to have a happy reign as King and Queen, I wish for Ivan to return to better health, and I wish that you and I could be happy with one another, I wish that none of this had happened, that I cold be yours and you could be mine. Some of those wishes will never come to pass. I have made my peace with that.”

“Damn you, woman.” Loki rasped, a little too loudly for Natasha’s liking.

“Hush.” She snapped. “Loki, you are drunk, and people will hear you.”

“Do you think that I care what other people think of me?”

“Go back to your wife.” She replied sharply, and by the way Loki seemed to move in his chair, her words had cut deep.

“I can’t do it.” She heard him mutter. “I cannot bed her, knowing I could have had you.”

“You have had me, copiously for that matter.”

“Will you not come to my chambers ever again?”

“It would be infidelity.” She sighed, knowing Odin would probably do nothing if he ‘found out’, but Natasha could not think about seeing Loki again, not when she was to be parted from him forever in just a matter of days.

“I thought you would have known by now, that I am exceptionally talented at keeping secrets.” His breath was hot in her ear as he leant forward, his fingers brushing against her arm with a feather-light touch. “Do not estrange yourself from me, Natasha. Please.”

She could feel herself grow flushed with each of his words. His breath tickling her neck, his fingers tracing circles on her skin, it was too much. She stood, a little too quickly for her liking, as the room spun around her, when she came to, Loki was holding her arms, steadying her. Still, no one had noticed them, they were hiding in plain sight. Before she could tell what was happening, Loki was dragging her to the side of the room, behind a pillar in a darkened corner. She rested her head against the marble, her mind relaxing, and her eyes coming to focus properly.

Loki’s lips crashed against her in frenzy, his hands clutching her waist with want and need, as a desperate whimper escaped his lips. He moaned against her, and she couldn’t help but entangle her fingers in his locks, standing on her toes to reach him better. He tasted strongly of wine, as his tongue swept over hers, practically devouring her mouth. She turned her head to the side, and his lips pressed against the shell of her ear, not realising she had moved. A soft groan escaped him.

“Why does it have to be like this?” She asked, whispering, but Loki could hear her. She cupped his face in her hands, eyes boring into his. “Why could it not be easier?”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, tightly, in a steadfast grip as though he would never let go. “You should have left with me when you had the chance.” He muttered in her ear, and his shoulders seemed to slump, his head resting on her shoulders in defeat. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him there in an embrace. And there they stood for some time, in the darkened corner, loud jovial music filling the space, as cries of euphoria filled their ears, they stood together in an embrace that they wished would last forever.

It did not.

Loki was called away by his brother, who’s booming voice had broken them from their contact before Thor saw them, and he dragged him to his wife. The guests cheered as Loki escorted Sigyn from the hall, off to their inevitable copulation. It was tradition in Asgard, to watch the freshly wedded couple leave their celebration to consummate their union, but Natasha did not join in with the cheering, the jokes and the banter, instead she watched from the marble column as Loki walked away with Sigyn on his arm, a feigned look of contentment on his face. To anyone it would seem as though he was truly happy, but Natasha could see right through his façade, as she always could.


	13. The Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as they were out of sight Natasha turned on Loki once more, shoving him back.
> 
> “I suppose you have seen the damage then.” He replied, turning to go to his seat, his head bowed ashamedly. Good, at least he had some sort of regret.
> 
> “How dare you.” She rasped, unable to shout, for pure rage was straining her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So this was quite a quick update, wasn’t it? I’m pretty pleased to have got it out so soon, and you can thank Her Majesty’s Passport Office for making me go up to London and wait around for four hours, because I got a hell of a lot of work done.   
> Also guys, serious note right here, this fic is about to get significantly darker, and this chapter may be quite triggery. I don’t really know how to label it as a trigger warning, as I just don’t want to put people off. (I promise, it’s mild) But basically physical abuse. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed by this turn of events, but this fic was never intended to remain lovey dovey and whatnot. What I’m trying to do is make Natasha progress into the character of Natasha Romanov we all know and love, so she needs some sort of hardship to come by to make her the strong woman she is.   
> Ok, that explanation made it sound really stupid…. Just read it, I’m probably thinking about it too much.

 

Natasha woke early that morning, to the sounds of carts being wheeled around in the courtyard, and servants chattering between duties. It was rare that Natasha would have to rise at such an hour, but with her new position as a handmaiden, it was now Natasha’s responsibility to aid the princess in the mornings _and_ in the evenings.

She moaned, pulling her bed sheets up to her chin, unwilling to step out of her warm bed and into the cold morning. Natasha knew it was not just the chill that kept her in bed, but the knowledge of what she would find when she went to Loki and Sigyn’s chamber, it would be Sigyn’s greatest taunt, for Natasha to behold the evidence of their coupling smeared red across the white sheets.

She rolled out of bed ungracefully and padded along the stone floor to her wardrobe, the room around her wavering slightly as the wine from the evening’s festivities still flowed through her system. Her reflection in her vanity mirror was a ghastly sight. She was pale, with purple hues under her eyes, her hair, which had been unbraided with tired and intoxicated fingers, stuck out in odd places, making it look like a lions mane. She quickly tamed her hair, powered her face and slipped into a plain dark blue gown that wrapped around her waist. It was either one of her old, plain gowns, or one of the ones that Loki had gifted her with, and whilst it would feel nice to wear such a thing in Sigyn’s presence, it would only stir up more trouble than she wanted, or needed.

The journey to Loki’s chambers felt odd, to be going there to early in the morning, as opposed to coming back from it. It stung her to not have been the one to share his bed, and she scoffed at her childishness. She was acting as though Loki was her favourite toy and Odin had given it to Sigyn, it was not entirely incorrect, but Natasha had no claim over Loki, only what she felt in her heart.

She picked up a dress for Sigyn and some clean sheets on her way, her fingers trailing the fabric of the dress as she walked. It was so soft beneath her fingers, the embroidery so fine and the silk so expensive; it only seemed to fuel her ire and jealousy towards the woman. That was it. Jealousy. Natasha hated to admit it but she was jealous of Sigyn, she had grown up in Vanaheim, where its beauty was legendary, in a palace, with servants and handmaidens waiting on her hand and foot. Whilst, Natasha on the other hand, had to grow up in one of the poorest villages in Midgard, never truly knowing that she had the blood of one of the wealthiest and most powerful families running through her veins. She could have been rich and powerful, if only her parents still lived. Some people were not so lucky as Sigyn, and Sigyn would never let them forget it.

Natasha hesitated outside the door to Loki’s chamber, now to be recognised as Loki and Sigyn’s chamber, though Sigyn would still keep her old rooms nevertheless, for privacy, no doubt. Natasha finally gave in and knocked on the wooden panels, waiting for the door to open, or for someone to call her in. She stood in the hallway for sometime, yet no one came to answer. Finally she opened the door herself, finding it unlocked, and wandered in, head held high, and making sure to look as carefree as possible, despite the growing anger and fear that crawled over her skin. The bedroom was empty, much to her surprise, and she could hear the faintest splash of water from the bathroom, where Loki must have ordered Sigyn a bath like he had done for her when they had first coupled. She set the sheets down on the table beside the bed, and draped Sigyn’s gown over an armchair. Now was for the moment Natasha dreaded most, she turned towards the bed, the sheets were crumpled and in complete disarray, and a scent of sex lingered in the air, but the final confirmation came when Natasha pulled back the covers to find what she had expected. Blood. It stained the white sheets, spread across them in every which way, as though something had rubbed against the pool of blood so ferociously that it had smeared all over the place.

Passionate? Was that what it could be called? It certainly looked as though their lovemaking had been so wild and untamed that it was surprising the bed had not broken in half. Natasha was certain she never had received such treatment from him, so if that was what he liked, why had he bothered with her at all?

There were soft footsteps from across the room, and Natasha looked up from the bed, still holding the bed sheets in one hand, to see Loki in the doorway. He had presumably come from his study, and Natasha looked momentarily towards the bathroom, a short feeling of relief filling her as she realised it was only Sigyn in the bath. He stayed in the doorway, chest bare, and wearing only his leather breaches. His hair was a mess, the way it would be after hours of having his fingers running through it exasperatedly, and he fixed her with a frosty glare, is breathing evidently shallow.

“Lady Romanov.” He said tersely, there was no warmth in his greeting, and all Natasha could do was stand and stare back at him.

“My Lord.”

He picked up a green tunic that lay crumpled in a chair, throwing it over his head and slipping into his black jacket. Without another word, or any sort of formality, he left, slamming the door behind him like a child having a tantrum.

Natasha sighed, never having seen Loki so cold, even those two days when he barely recognised her existence, he had not been so. She took out her frustrations on the bed sheets, pulling them angrily off the bed and throwing them to the side of the room, and hastily dressing the bed with new, clean sheets. She bundled up the bloodstained bed covers and set them outside the chamber for a servant to pick up later. By the time she came back into Loki’s bed chamber, Sigyn was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, a silk robe wrapped around her wet body, and she clutched the robes tie at the waist so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She peered up at Natasha, who was mentally preparing herself for new taunts, so did not realise the evident edginess in Sigyn’s character.

“Is he gone?” She asked, voice quiet and almost weak. Natasha frowned, not expecting Sigyn to seem so fragile. She had thought the woman would lord her position over Natasha, like she had been doing since her arrival.

“Loki?”

“Yes, Loki.” Sigyn nodded impatiently, yet her tone held no spite. “Is he gone?”

“Y-yes.” Natasha replied, caught off guard by her questioning. She supposed it was Sigyn’s way of making sure the coast was clear before she began mentally torturing her handmaiden. “The prince left just after I arrived.”

“Oh, good.” Sigyn muttered, her gaze finding the floor.

“I brought you your dress.” Natasha informed her, stepping cautiously towards where she had draped the clothing over the armchair. “Would you like help getting into it?”

She didn’t know how to do it, how to serve anyone that was not Frigga. With the queen it was so easy. All she needed to do was brush her hair, plait it, and leave, unless Frigga wished to speak with her, or merely enjoy her company. But with Sigyn it was different. They loathed each other, so what more could Natasha do other than fix Sigyn’s hair and dress her, but Sigyn remained still in the doorway, not answering her question and making Natasha feel even more uncomfortable by the minute.

Sigyn finally took a small step away from the doorway, her hands shaking as they clutched her gown, however, Natasha was sure her bath should have been hot. She went to sit at a vanity, which was new to Loki’s chambers, Natasha had noted, but had probably been brought in for Sigyn’s uses.

“Could you do my hair first?” She asked timidly, and Natasha frowned again. Was it some sort of trick?

Natasha approached her with tentative steps, picking up a brush from the vanity and taking a bundle of Sigyn’s golden curls in her hand. She fought the childish urge to pull on it, though a small smirk did curl up her lips at the thought.

“What was he like with you?” Sigyn asked, bringing Natasha from her petulant thoughts. She stared at the princess in the mirror, scrutinising the way she looked so skittish, so nervous, like a dog that had been abused by it’s owner. Natasha paused, her hand letting go of Sigyn’s hair and letting it fall through her fingers like sand.

“What do you mean?” She asked, fearing the worst.

“Don’t pretend you do not know. I know all about your dealings with my husband.” She said the last word with such distaste, and Natasha could not understand what had transpired that night, though she dreaded to know. “How was he with you, the first time you…”

“He was gentle.” Natasha replied, still staring into Sigyn’s eyes through the mirror. Sigyn’s face fell when Natasha spoke. “Why?”

“I have been a fool.” Sigyn whispered, falling forwards in her chair to let her head rest in her hands. “A damned fool.”

“My lady, what has happened?” Natasha asked, daring to reach out and touch her back gently, but Sigyn did not shy away from her touch.

“Here I was, lording myself over everyone else, as though marrying the prince was the greatest thing on earth.” She wept into her hands, and Natasha saw her for who she really was. A child.

Sigyn was nothing more than a girl, brought into Asgard far too early, and forced to marry a stranger who was already in love with another.

“What happened last night, my Lady?” Natasha asked again, her hand hovering over Sigyn’s back as she wept.

Her robe was wet from where she had not properly dried, her hair frizzy around her face and her eyes blotchy. She was no longer that beautiful princess that would stride around the castle, a smug smirk on her lips and an expression as though she was planning your downfall. No, Natasha was seeing her raw, unmade, and yet it made her so much more human.

“I am so sorry, Natasha, you must hate me.”

“I do not hate you, Sigyn.” Natasha lied smoothly, crouching down beside Sigyn’s chair and wiping her blonde locks from her face.

“Yes you do.” She replied, her lips trembling as she fiddled with her fingers nervously, never making eye contact. “I have made a fool of myself, all because I was jealous of you.”

“What in the name of the gods are you talking about?” Natasha frowned, genuinely confused.

“Every one of Frigga’s ladies looks up to you, Natasha, every single one. Even Amora, if you look closely enough. You have it all, you have that strange beauty that no one else has, you hair, your lips, and your eyes. No wonder Loki lusts after you.” Sigyn frowned when Natasha broke into laughter, her reddened eyes narrowing in frustration. “What is so funny?”

“You are a princess of Vanaheim.” Natasha reminded her, standing behind her in front of the vanity. She pulled Sigyn’s hair back from her face, revealing her blotched visage. “You should envy no one.”

Sigyn looked from her own reflection to Natasha’s. “Vanaheim is not _that_ great.” She smiled, a small puff of laughter leaving her lips, and Natasha grinned back, hardly believing what had just transpired, but it felt nice.

Natasha finished Sigyn’s hair quickly, yet she was pleased with the outcome, seeing as she had little experience with such matters, and lead Sigyn over to her dress. The princess kept her robe close to her body, clutching the hem as though she would never let go.

“You did not dry yourself properly.” Natasha sighed. “If you stay in that robe, you will catch a cold.”

Sigyn did not reply, but slowly let the robe slip from her body, evoking a soft gasp from Natasha. Sigyn’s body was littered with fresh bruises, purplish hues on her collar bone, large red marks that looked like hands on her hips, on her wrists.

“Just put the dress on and never speak of this again.” Sigyn snapped, but it was softer than she had intended, there was sorrow in her voice.

“Who did this to you?” Natasha asked, though she knew the answer already.

“Who do you think?” Sigyn replied, her eyes glazed as she looked down at her battered body.

“Loki.” His name on her lips was a mere breath, yet it left a bitter aftertaste for something that had previously been so sweet. “He did not… he could not. Why?”

Sigyn reached for her robe and clutched it around her body one again. “Loki has never done such things with you, I presume.”

Natasha stepped forward, pulling the robe off of Sigyn’s shoulders and tracing the bruises with light fingers. Sigyn’s skin erupted into gooseflesh under Natasha’s touch, and the princess shuddered. “Please, Natasha, say nothing.”

Natasha pulled away sharply to stare at Sigyn in disbelief. “You cannot expect me to ignore this.”

“He will punish me if-”

“Sigyn, Trust me when I say that I will ensure he _never_ does this again.” Natasha informed her sternly.

“You think you can?” She asked, there was hope in her soft words, so endearing that it made Natasha’s heart break to hear it.

“Whatever it takes.” She replied. “He will not lay a vicious finger on you as long as I live.”

Sigyn remained quiet whilst Natasha dressed her, flinching whenever she accidentally pressed on a bruise. Natasha pulled the lace on her corset, tugging angrily as she worked, and trying to dispel the thoughts running through her mind. She organised Sigyn’s dress so that she looked presentable, whilst covering up any marks Loki had left on her body.

“It is because I am not you.” Sigyn murmured after Natasha had finished with her, her head bowed as she fiddled with the lace of her dress.

“Do not say that.” Natasha chided softly.

“Well it is true.” Sigyn replied with a shrug. “He resents me because I stop him from having you. He would have me stabbed if it put you by his side. I daresay it would be he who held the blade.”

“He would not.” Natasha snapped, turning Sigyn around to face her. “He knows I would not accept him if he did such a thing, and he would never do it in the first place. He is a kind man, I have seen it with my own eyes. I do not understand this.” She gestured towards Sigyn’s body, the bruises now hidden beneath masses of fabric, yet no less real. “I never thought him capable of such horrors.”

“Some traits are hidden, I suppose.” Sigyn replied, and she leant in to Natasha for an embrace, her long arms wrapping around her tightly. It took a moment for Natasha to comprehend what was happening, but she snaked her hands around Sigyn’s waist and held her in return. She smiled into the princess’s shoulder, despite having to deal with Loki, at least she did not have to deal with Sigyn the same way she did before. She was one less person to hate in Asgard. Sometimes feuds could be so tiring.

~X~

Natasha parted from Sigyn outside Loki’s chambers, as the princess went off to breakfast, Natasha went to find Loki. Her breakfast could wait.

She couldn’t believe he could do such a thing. Her heart wanted her to believe that Loki was innocent, and this was all just another trick from Sigyn to taunt her, to lure her into a false sense of kinship. But in her mind she knew it was true. Sigyn had been cold before, but she would never lie about such things, to do so would put her on another level of cruelty, and it would be ridiculous to accuse her husband, the _prince_ , of hurting her in such a way. It was clear the marks had not been self-inflicted, or from prior occasions, Natasha had too much experience with bruises to detect when they were fresh. It just hurt her to know she was right.

She found her way to the library from Loki’s room easily, though having never taken that route before. As expected there were guards by the doors, to let everyone know that a royal was using the chamber, though Loki never used to employ them for his benefit, it was a recent development. It signalled he did not wish to be disturbed, by Natasha specifically. She knew before when he would not mind another’s presence in the library, as he was often hidden away at the back, nestled comfortably in his armchair, but Natasha always knew where to find him, so it was clear that she was unwelcome now.

“The prince has requested that he be left alone this morning.” Váli informed her before she had even reached the doors. He glared down at her coldly, no doubt resenting her since she managed to get him into trouble before.

“I do not care for what he wants, let me through.” She snapped, in no mood for a debate. She would break down the door if it got Loki to listen to her, to see what he had done.

“Be careful how you speak, girl.” Váli sneered, his voice tense as he grew visibly angered.

“I am not a girl.” She cut him off before he could lecture her on proper etiquette. “I am a woman as you can see well enough. My name is Natasha Romanov of house Romanov, do well to remember that, _guard._ ”

Hœnir sniggered from beside them and Natasha cast him a sideways smile and turned towards him fully. “Let me through?” She asked feigning innocence, but Hœnir sobered as soon as the question fell from her lips.

“I am sorry, my lady, but the we follow the princes orders, it is our job.” He smiled apologetically.

“I see.” She stepped back, observing the large wooden door that separated her from Loki, and she could almost sense his interest, the way his ears would be burning to listen closely to their conversation, but his pride and his stubbornness would chain him in place, and he would not let her in himself. She would have to find her own way in, or some way to force him out. “And there is nothing I can do to tempt you to break your orders?”

“Be gone, woman.” Váli snapped, and Natasha turned back to him with a genuine smile. Well, at least she was no longer ‘girl.’

She looked him up and down, making him bristle under her scrutiny, good, she always took an interest in the power of a glare. He shuffled on his feet awkwardly, the first sign that she was getting to him. She smirked.

He was not a burly man, not like some of the other guards or soldiers, no, he had been appointed the position of a ‘library guard’ because he was not good enough, because he was either too weak, or injured, or too old to be a soldier or a guard of honourable position. She turned to Hœnir, whose shoulders straitened when her gazed locked with his. He was similar to Váli in his build: Tall, towering figures, yet with rounded bellies from too many nights at the taverns that completely discounted any authoritative façade, that could have otherwise made them seem like a force to be reckoned with. Hœnir, though a kind man, was simple, his mind softened by countless pints of ale consumed over his lifetime, and Váli, who desired a status to make him feared, was nothing but a middle-aged man, done with chasing his dreams of being one of the Kings Guard, and settling with the role of a doorman. And after her training with Sif, she was sure it would at least be an equal fight, but she did not want for it to come to that, persuasion was always her greatest asset.

She looked between the two men, a plan forming in her mind, it was risky, but as soon as she got to Loki, she knew he would help her in some way. Whatever coldness he felt towards her would surely discredited when she asked for his help, he loved her, didn’t he? She didn’t want to need his help, she was furious with him, but if it came to such an instance as her needing his help, she would not pass up an offer.

“Tell me, Váli.” She began, stifling the smirk that threatened to twist up her lips. “How long have you been a doorman?”

“I am a member of the kings guard.” He spat in reply.

“Hmm, not really.” She mused, pacing before the men. “See, a member of the kings guard protects the realm and his king. You protect a room full of books.”

“I thought I told you to leave.”

“You did.” She replied, practically seeing Loki snigger despite himself as he listened in on their conversation. He would have known of her presence by now, and she knew his curiosity would get the better of him. “But seeing as a doorman has no right to move me from standing in this particular spot, I see no reason why I should listen to you.”

“My lady Romanov.” Hœnir began hesitantly.

“You guard the door to another room, standing just in front of it should do no harm to anyone.” She smiled, standing directly in front of the door proudly, feet firmly in place beside each other and hands held innocently behind her back.

“I will do harm to you if you stay any longer.” Váli hissed, his hands clutching the spear he held at his side so tightly his knuckles paled. Good. Natasha’s lips twisted into a smirk, it was involuntary, but she supposed it would only fuel the mans ire further, which was what she wanted.

“I would feel threatened if you were not demoted to such a lowly position of the Kings Guard.” Her voice was honeyed and innocent, picking at Váli’s temper all the more.

“You think you pose as a worthy opponent?” He asked challengingly.

“Would you like to find out?”

Váli shifted the spear in his hands, and Natasha’s breath hitched. If Loki were listening he surely would have intervened by now. If he cared for her the way he had professed so only days before, this mans cruel words towards her would have angered him. Or maybe he was testing her, seeing how far she could go. Did his stubbornness really stretch so far?

“Do not think me a coward, bitch.” Váli rasped, pulling his spear from his side and pointing at her, his face red with rage. “Women are frail, I could break you like a twig.”

“You think women are frail, but look how quickly your pride was broken under my verbal blows.” Natasha laughed, her amusement was feigned of course, as a real sense of fear began to flood through her veins. She had only fought with Sif, and that was mere training. This man had a spear, probably a fair amount of strength, despite her taunting that he had none, and she was unarmed.

“Would you like me to deliver your body to the king and queen in a box?” Váli threatened. “Because I am fully capable of doing so.”

“Yes, you are.” Natasha agreed, drumming her fingers against her lips in thought. “But only if you wanted to be sent to the gallows right away. What do you think the queen would say when she found out that you killed the daughter of her dearest friends?”

Váli stilled, pulling his spear back to his side hesitantly and taking a subtle gulp to calm himself.

“Perhaps it is best that you leave, my lady.” Hœnir sighed, looking between the two cautiously.

Natasha stifled a sigh, her plan had failed, and Loki remained far from her reach. “Fine.” She sighed, just loud enough for Loki to hear on the other side of the door, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll just go then.”

She turned, taking a few steps down the hall, before settling on her second plan, one that was most likely to get her caught, but she needed to see the prince. She heard Hœnir and Váli relax behind her, and smiled to herself. She span around, facing the doorway again, and ran directly for the doors. The guards jolted into action, but missed her as she ran past them, pushing the doors open with all her might and sprinting further into the library. She heard them shouting behind her, but kept going, seeing something move deeper into he library, she moved towards it.

“Loki?” She called angrily, her fists clenching at her sides. “Come out and face me like a man.”

She heard a cold chuckle from behind the bookcases, and Loki appeared before her, his lips twisted into a smirk. “I’m impressed.”

She ran towards him, shoving her hands against his chest so he stumbled off balance slightly.

“I told you to leave, whore.” Váli rasped, catching up with her, Hœnir beside him, with spears positioned towards her. Loki bristled at his words, stopping them with a wave of his hands.

“Leave us.” He said icily.

“But, my lord.” Hœnir began, his shoulders loosening.

“Leave.”

“Yes, my lord, our apologies.” Hœnir bowed, resting his spear at his side and taking Váli by his arm to drag him out. Natasha sent Váli a subtle smirk and curtsied.

“Thank you,” She smiled. “For your cooperation.”

As soon as they were out of sight Natasha turned on Loki once more, shoving him back.

“I suppose you have seen the damage then.” He replied, turning to go to his seat, his head bowed ashamedly. Good, at least he had some sort of regret.

“How dare you.” She rasped, unable to shout, for pure rage was straining her voice. “How dare you hurt her.”

“I did not mean to.” Loki sighed, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes in exasperation.

“How? Tell me how, Loki.” She watched him in utter disbelief as he sighed, placing his books onto his desk in such a mundane way, it looked nothing like he was being accused off hurting his wife.

“I was angry.” He murmured, leaning back into his chair, eyes closed.

“I don’t care if you were angry, Loki.” She replied, crossing her arms defiantly. “You should have had some form of self control.”

“I was drunk.”

“I know you were, but that is no excuse.” She kept her voice calm, knowing full well that shouting would not get her message across, only make him less willing to be in her company. “She is your wife, your princess, not some training dummy in the yard for you to beat until your muscles ache.”

“And when did you become so cosy with Sigyn?” Loki asked, opening his eyes to glare at her.

“Perhaps I sympathised with her when I saw you had beaten her black and blue.”

“Admit it, you still hate her.” His lips twisted into a dark smirk, and something feral gleamed behind his eyes, like nothing she had ever seen on him before.

“What are you?” She asked, her voice a whisper. Loki looked up at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“How did you become so cruel? So cold.”

“This is who I am, Natasha, who I have always been.”

“No, you never hurt me, you were passionate, but there were lines that you never crossed.” She watched him as he adjusted his position, practically squirming under her gaze guiltily.

“I love you.” He shrugged, as though that answer solved everything. “I do not love her.”

“So it is true.” She murmured under her breath. “What Sif told me about the whores you send back from your chamber, littered with bruises and red marks. You like it.”

“Natasha.”

“You like the power.” She swallowed thickly, tearing her gaze away from his, for she could not bear to look at him. She felt so ashamed, though she knew not why, it should have been him to feel ashamed, after all that he had done. “So I have not satisfied you then, you couldn’t wait to get your claws into Sigyn, to scare her half to death.”

“Stop.” He lurched from his seat, grasping her arms and pulling her flush against his chest. She squirmed in his grip, pulling away from him, but his grip held fast. Tears began to form in her eyes, hot and heavy, spilling over her cheeks.

“I have been so stupid.” She breathed, still attempting to free herself from Loki’s grasp. “A quick fuck. That is all I am to you, is it not?”

“Of course not.” He rasped, pulling her so that his nose was a hairs breadth from her own. “How many times must I tell you? I love you. Is that so complicated? Why can you not understand?”

“Let me go!” She cried, trying with all her might to rip herself from him, but some strange part of her still wanted to be close to him, no matter how much he was scaring her at that moment.

“I have no desire to hurt you, the same way I have no desire to be with Sigyn. Don’t you see?” He searched her eyes, looking for any trace of understanding, but all he saw was fear, and it pained his very being to see it. “Please, Natasha, forgive me. There is no excuse for my actions, but I cannot bear to have you angry with me.”

Natasha relaxed in his hands, her face tilting upwards to meet his eyes and her expression stony. There was no giveaway to what she was thinking, she had trained her face to that of ambiguity, and Loki hated it, he hated not knowing what she was thinking.

“Then vow to never harm Sigyn again.”

“I can make no such vow.” He sighed, still holding her tightly, though his expression relaxed into one of sadness. Natasha looked back up at him in bewilderment, how could he be like this?

“You made such a vow yesterday at your wedding.”

“And I broke it.” He replied, his voice quieting. “I do not wish to break any more.”

“You do not regret what you did to her?”

“I do not know.” He sighed, letting go of her arms to run his hands through his hair.

“How?” She shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around Loki’s concept of marriage, of right and wrong. “Just because you do not care for her, does not give you any right to take out your anger on her. It means you put up with her, and if you want to fuck whores in secret then go right ahead, that is what they are there for!”

Loki stared at her, never having seen her be so crude. “Natasha.” She shook her head at the sound of her name being said.

“If you have to do it,” She sighed, closing her eyes, as though anticipating some great pain. “Do it to me.”

“What?” Loki took a step towards her, his face contorted in confusion. What was she playing at?

“Sigyn is now the princess of Asgard, she has joined the houses of Asgard and Vanaheim together the way your mother did many years ago. If anyone were to hear of what you do to her it would break the tie between the realms. You cannot hurt her, there is no question about it. It is not just about love or feelings, Loki, it is political as well, and as a prince you should recognise that.” She swallowed again, meeting his gaze with determination rather than fear.

“I will not hurt you. Do you not listen?”

“Then do not hurt anyone at all!” She held her hands out to her sides as though it were obvious. “But if you must, if you cannot rid yourself of that particular itch, then find me instead. Do not inflict you own problems on Sigyn, she does not deserve that.”

“Neither do you.” Loki muttered, and his jaw clenched.

“I really do not know what else to say.” Natasha sighed, she thought she had done all she could, what else was there to offer? She turned to leave, but Loki grasped her wrist, pulling her back.

“Come to my chamber tonight.” He whispered in her ear, his hot breath tickling her skin. “Please.”

He sounded desperate, troubled, and Natasha’s heart ached for him. She could hear the regret and the embarrassment in his plea, but she nodded minutely and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

“I promise, I will help you, Loki.” She cupped his cheek with one hand and smiled gently.

She left without another word, wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into. If it meant the safety of Sigyn, and the upkeep of an important tie between realms, then she knew she had to do it, despite what may occur that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please tell me what you thought of this chapter. I don't usually write stuff like this, so I feel rather new to the whole 'trigger warning' concept. Am I just being really stupid?


	14. Darkest Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She knows that we are all she has, especially when her family returns to Vanaheim, she cannot turn to Loki when she needs comfort can she?”
> 
> “Well, she can, but she will not want to, and I daresay he will be willing to help her.” Sif sighed and bowed her head. “I sincerely hope that this discovery of yours makes you less inclined to seek Loki’s company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took longer to update than I expected, but my excuse is that I'm in SPAIN!  
> I've been adding bits to the story now and then when I had free time, so here we are at last. I hope I didn't scare you guys off with the last chapter, and I planned for this one to be a little nicer.  
> Basically, we all know Loki has a dark side, but in this chapter we may discover one of Nats...  
> So I'll leave you with that xxx

“I just don’t see why she has to come with us.” Sif muttered as she walked alongside Natasha. She cast a look behind her, where Sigyn trailed after them, holding her gown to her ankles so it did not fall into the mud, (Natasha and Sif never had much regard for the dirt, their clothes would be cleaned by the end of the day after all.) Eir caught Sigyn’s arm just as she was about to trip over a rock, and she giggled slightly at her clumsiness. It was rather humbling for Natasha to see Sigyn out of her comfort zone, to see that she was not as perfect as she once made herself to seem.

Sif rolled her eyes at Sigyn’s incompetence, but Natasha sent the blonde a comforting smile and turned back to Sif. “I asked her if she wanted to join us.” Natasha murmured in reply. “I thought it would be nice to get her out of the palace, take her mind off of certain matters.”

In truth, Natasha wanted to take her _own_ mind off of matter at court. She suggested a walk around the grounds, this time she invited Jane and her handmaiden Lady Darcy Lewis, Lady Pepper and Lady Maria. She made sure to keep word of their escapade from the ears of Amora, and asked if Sigyn would care to join them. Natasha felt a sort of protectiveness towards the girl, she was so young and innocent, it made Natasha’s heart ache to think of her predicament. Eir was more than happy to attend also, and seeing as she had no previous qualms with Sigyn, she was sure to keep her company if every one else decided to ignore her. It was true, Sigyn had made a bad impression on most of the women at court, and Natasha hoped to change that before she left, it would give her peace of mind to know that Sigyn could be comfortable in Asgard, and Sif could have a friend when Natasha left.

Natasha breathed in the fresh air and looked up at the clear blue sky. The sun was beating down on them, and there was a peaceful silence on the hill that they walked upon, following a thin stony trail. It seemed like the perfect day for a walk, and after that morning’s events, Natasha was sure it would be exactly what she needed. Jane had brought with her a basket of delicacies, some from Midgard, though the more exotic foods were from the palace’s kitchens in Asgard, and Darcy was more than happy to announce that she had sneakily taken them herself, so they could thank her for satisfying their appetites. Pepper had brought a multitude of blankets, and had help from Maria with carrying them, and Sigyn had brought cards, a beautiful set with intricate designs on the backs, though surprisingly, she did not boast about their cost or their maker, instead she merely offered them as a pass time while they sat and ate. Natasha and Sif where empty handed, not used to bringing things with them when they went for walks, nor were they used to sitting and resting, but on such a beautiful day it seemed like a welcome idea.

“Oh yes, it must be so stressful being the princess of Asgard, having servants wait on you hand and foot.” Sif snipped in return. “I thought after having to serve her this morning, you would be the last person to invite her for a walk.”

“Such matters have changed.” Natasha informed Sif, she kept her voice low, making sure that the rest of their party did not overhear their conversation. “Sigyn is not how she once seemed.”

“Has she promised to share Loki with you?” Sif retorted sardonically. Natasha stuck out her foot, prompting Sif’s to catch on her ankle and making her stumble to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Jane asked, running up to the pair with concern painted plainly on her features.

“We’re fine.” Sif growled from where she sat and glared at Natasha. Natasha did not help her up, knowing all too well that it would only hurt Sif’s pride further.

“You go ahead.” Natasha said to Jane and gestured to the expanse of land before them. “Find a nice place to rest.”

Jane nodded and walked on with Darcy by her side, Pepper and Maria followed shortly after, and Eir and Sigyn walked arm in arm behind them all. Eir paused by where Sif was pushing herself from the gravel path, and peered at Sif’s hands, which were grazed and bleeding slightly.

“I can make a cream to remedy that.” She told her, nodding towards her hands. Sif was wiping them onto her dress angrily.

“I will be fine.” She said through gritted teeth.

When Eir pulled Sigyn away to follow the rest, Sif turned to Natasha. “What was that for?”

“You once told me how Loki would have women from the pleasure house come to his chambers.” Natasha reminded her friend, and she ignored the hateful way Sif stared at her.

“Yes.” Sif replied, jaw tight. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“You said that they were returned battered and bruised.”

“So, Loki likes it rough.” Sif sniggered. “I cannot see what that has anything to do with…” Sif trailed off, realising what Natasha was trying to tell her. “You think Loki harmed Sigyn?”

“I know he did.” Natasha said grimly, taking Sif’s arm and leading her back onto the path. “I had to dress her this morning, did I not?”

“Gods.” Sif whispered. “Poor girl.”

“She knows that she was cruel, she was caught up in this belief that she was better than us all because she was to marry him.”

“And now that she knows his sick desires, she thinks herself a fool?” Sif finished for her.

“She thought that she was going to have it all, a perfect marriage, a respectable title, servants to serve her every whim.” Natasha listed it all bitterly. “But the marriage turned out to be not so perfect after all, and I think it woke her up from her daydreams.”

“You think she will be kinder to us then?” Sif asked sceptically and she raised a brow.

“She knows that we are all she has, especially when her family returns to Vanaheim, she cannot turn to Loki when she needs comfort can she?”

“Well, she can, but she will not want to, and I daresay he will be willing to help her.” Sif sighed and bowed her head. “I sincerely hope that this discovery of yours makes you less inclined to seek Loki’s company.”

Natasha looked at Sif, her lips were set in a firm line as she contemplated telling her everything. It would be foolish to tell her such things, Sif would never understand, she hated Loki too much, and it was always too easy for the two of them to argue. For now, she would keep her secret, only Sigyn could know, why ruin such a perfect day?

They caught up with the rest of the party, who had settled under the shade of a large oak tree at the peak of the hill. The blankets were already set onto the ground, and Jane was picking through her basket, placing delicacies to her side where Darcy would pick them up and inspect them.

~X~

An unfamiliar sense of euphoria came over Natasha as she sat on the hill, overlooking the city below them. Sif was busy with Maria climbing the oak tree and laughing with each other like young, playful girls, Jane plaited Sigyn hair, and Natasha played cards with Eir, Pepper and Darcy. It was like the childhood she had never had, as she watched Sigyn and Jane giggle over their soon-to-be sisterly relationship, and Sif proudly announcing how much faster she was at climbing, she smiled to herself and resisted the urge to grin.

She purposefully lost a round of cards, in order to be put out of the game, so she could lie back and relax. She closed her eyes and listened to the soft chirping of the birds above her, the gentle breeze that caressed her cheeks and the quiet laughter of her friends. She was in Elysium, Valhalla, Heaven, wherever the gods resided, she was sure she was there. She had never in her days felt so relaxed, and yet there was so much for her to worry about. She did not think about Sigyn’s marks, the threat the posed to Asgards tie with Vanaheim. She did not think about her promise to Loki, how she had sacrificed her body for Sigyn’s comfort. It would be useless to worry about such things, they were trivial on such a day. She did, however, allow herself to think about one matter in particular, Clint Barton. She made plans to see him when they returned, she had a request to make.

“Sigyn, what is that on your shoulder?” Jane’s voice jolted Natasha back to reality, and she sat up to find Jane hovering over Sigyn, her fingers brushing over a dark mark by her neck. She caught Sigyn’s eye, and she could see her pea for help in the way she looked at her.

“That would be my fault.” Natasha chimed in quickly, moving over to set Sigyn’s hair over the bruise. Pepper, Darcy, Jane and Eir all looked at her expectantly, waiting for an explanation. “I was trying to fasten my lady’s gown, but my hand slipped from the collar and hit her, rather harshly it seems.” She mused, smoothing Sigyn’s golden locks over her shoulder kindly. “I am sorry, my lady, once again.”

“It is quite alright, as I have told you.” Sigyn replied, her voice was small, but there was evidence of gratefulness in her words.

“I have a cream that can help soothe that, my lady.” Eir said slowly, casting Natasha a curious look. Natasha stared back at her plainly, knowing Eir did not quite believe the story. She had been healing those at court for years, it would be no surprise if she had heard stories of Loki’s roughness, but she remained quiet, most likely knowing it would be wrong to question Natasha’s excuse.

“Thank you Eir.” Sigyn replied, and she looked up to the rest of them, a large smile on her lips that almost looked genuine. She was a good actress.

~X~

They returned just after midday, the sun was still beating down from it’s place in the sky, and Natasha thanked the gods that she had decided to wear such a simple gown, anything heavier and she surely would have fainted under the heat.

The rest of them had decided to gather in the gallery, where it was cooler, but Natasha excused herself and told them she had business with Clint, and she left to the sounds of the them laughing and Lady Darcy making mock kissing noises. Natasha turned to cast them a stern look and they stifled their laughter until she had gone. She rolled her eyes, but could not keep back the grin that bloomed on her lips.

Her smile faded as she neared Clint’s chambers, for now the serious matters were to be brought up, and she needed her head in the right place. She knocked on his door, not bothering to gather herself before doing so, she supposed it was the adrenaline, for what she was about to ask him required all of her strength.

Lord Barton answered the door, a smile forming on his lips as he saw her standing before him. “My lady.” He bowed his head in greeting, and Natasha retuned the compliment with a small curtsey. “Please, come in.”

He gestured for her to enter, and so she did, stepping tentatively into his rooms. They were spacious rooms, from what she could see, they stood in a large entrance room, with a chaise lounge and a desk where he could work, several doors lined the walls, no doubt leading to a bedroom, a washroom and a dining room. Many of the guest rooms were similar to each other, Natasha had noted, but they were grand nonetheless.

She sat herself down on the chaise lounge, watching as Clint sat opposite her on his desk chair. He seemed to have registered her seriousness, and in turn his features had hardened in concern.

“I wish to discuss the wedding.” Natasha said finally, and Clint’s lips split into another smile, making Natasha want to roll her eyes.

“Well I hope it is only matters of the feast or the celebration you wish to discuss, for I worried you wanted to cancel it altogether.”

“I do not wish to cancel the wedding.” Natasha replied slowly, Clint still grinned. It was amiable that the man was so easily contented, but it only made it harder to let him down. “I wish to postpone it.”

Barton’s smile dropped from his face, and he stared at her with confusion. “What makes you want to postpone it?” He asked, his voice slow and steady, though it seemed forced, as though he did not wish for her to hear how he truly felt about her confession.

“I think you already know.”

“Loki.” Clint sighed, rubbing his eyes exasperatedly. “So, what, has he requested you stay?”

“No.”

“Then why?” He looked at her, his face contorted in bewilderment and sadness. Natasha tensed her jaw, just seeing Clint’s anguish made her chest ache. She did not need anyone else making her feel such a way, she already had Sigyn to look out for, she would be leaving Sif in a matter of time, she could not let anyone else down.

“I just need to make sure he will not hurt Sigyn.” She detected a hint of recognition in Clint’s eyes, as though he was piecing the puzzle together, understanding what she meant. He gave her a small nod, though his gaze was elsewhere, seemingly detached. “Until I know that they are comfortable with each other, I will not abandon her. Loki is angry, and I will try and subdue such emotions to keep the princess safe.”

“You cannot seriously mean what I think you do.” Clint’s gaze turned to her, his eyes glazed. “Natasha, you do not need to do such things.”

“If I can just let him release his anger-”

“On what? On you?” Clint stood, his voice raised and fists clenched at his sides. Natasha did not flinch at his sudden outburst, knowing rather than believing that Clint would not hurt her, he was too kind-hearted. “Natasha, do not be a fool! You think that he won’t continue to hurt her as soon as you have gone?”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t he? You would have left him, you would have no knowledge of it!” Clint stated, his face red as he struggled to keep his anger below the surface.

“Why do you think him such a monster?” She sat up straighter, glaring back at him defiantly. “You hate him because of what Odin has made me do with him. You do _not_ know him, you have not seen him like I have. He is a kind man, I am sure of it.”

“Do not be blind, Romanov.” Clint hissed, sitting back down and running his hands through his hair. “I will not let you do this.”

“You are not my husband yet, you have no power over me.” Natasha sat back and folded her arms. “I know him, I know what is right for him.”

“You are so much more than a sacrifice, Natasha.” Clint turned to her, and the look in his eyes, the emotion in his words, it only made her chest ache all the more.

“Let me do this.” She said calmly. “I promise you, we will marry and we shall leave for Midgard when the time is right, but I cannot leave now. Ivan is sick, Sigyn is vulnerable, I cannot leave at this time.”

“You cannot stay and have the entire world on your shoulders either.” Clint responded, his words were soft and calm like her own. “You cannot take responsibility for everything. Some things you must leave to resolve on their own.”

“I cannot leave yet.” Natasha replied simply.

“Alright then.” Clint let out a long sigh and rubbed his eyes. “We marry as we had always planned, but we trespass on the kings hospitality until you deem yourself ready to leave. The wedding plans are already underway, it is too late to push the date further back.”

“The wedding will only make Loki more distraught.” Natasha muttered quietly, regretting her words and wishing Clint did not hear them.

“And postponing it will only make me so.” Clint countered, his voice curt and sharp.

“Fine.” Natasha complied, standing from her seat. “Thank you for understanding.”

Clint shook his head and stared at his feet, and Natasha took that as her cue to leave. She curtseyed and turned for the door, only just hearing Clint’s words as she left.

“Be careful, Natasha.” They were spoken so softly, if Natasha had not had such good hearing she would have surely missed them. She turned in the doorway and smiled at him.

“I always am.”

~X~

Loki sighed, pushing his food around his plate like a child. He looked down from where he sat on the platform, with the rest of the royal family, to see Natasha at her table. She was sitting with Barton again, though he supposed that was to become a regular occurrence when they married, so he had better get used to it. She was smiling, in that beautiful way she did that lit up her eyes so brightly they could be seen from where he sat. Lord Stark seemed to be amusing their table with one of his tedious stories, and Loki was sure that Natasha was a better actress than he gave her credit for, or she was easily amused, for she was smiling and laughing and making merry with them all. He sighed again, wishing he could be sitting beside her rather than with Sigyn.

She was awfully quiet beside him, and his heart sunk as he remembered that it was his fault. He did not want to be a cold and heartless monster in her eyes, nor anyone’s, but no matter how hard he tried to be a better man, cruelty seemed to be in his nature.

He turned to his wife for the first time that evening, and she stiffened when she realised she was under his scrutiny. He sighed again, but persisted. “You may sleep in your own chambers this evening.” He told her, training his voice to maintain an air of kindness.

“After you have…”

“After the feast.” Loki finished for her, and graced her with a small smile. “You may retire to your old rooms for the night.”

“Have I offended you, your grace?” Sigyn asked, peering up at him through her lashes.

“Gods, no.” Loki replied, his voice soft, and it surprised him to hear himself sound so sympathetic. “I just thought you would like some privacy this night.”

Sigyn looked back at her husband, her eyes wide as she took him in. He seemed genuine, and she had to wonder if it was merely because he disliked her company or he felt guilt. She was grateful, nonetheless, for having her room to herself, and her eyes flicked over to where Natasha sat, her lips quirking at the corners as she beheld her defender.

“Thank you, your grace.” She turned back to him with a slight smile on her rose tinted lips.

“You need not call me by my title you know.” Loki replied, his expression impassive. She had not known him long, yet she knew already that she hated that expression, it was so difficult to read, and it reminded her of Natasha, she also made that face, which she hated all the more. She was grateful towards Natasha, and wished she could have been friends with her from the start, yet she did not need to be reminded of the woman’s relationship with her husband every time she saw their shared expressions. They were so alike, so in tune, perhaps they should have married instead, but the house of Romanova was old, half dead and a tie with them would serve so purpose. Sigyn’s family was rich, powerful and therefore greatly appealing to a man like Odin.

“Sorry.” She murmured, looking down at her plate. She chanced a look back up at Loki to see him staring at her, his eyebrow raised at her unnecessary apology. He sighed and looked a way as well, his gaze found Natasha amongst the crowds of guests, Sigyn looked at her too and then back to Loki, watching the way his gaze softened and his lips parted from how they were tensed in firm line before.

Sigyn got up from her chair, having had enough of Loki’s company, and felt his eyes on her as she left. She regretted not having excused herself properly, and she noticed her mother glaring at her from her seat. Before it would have bothered her, frightened her even, but to her surprise, she involuntarily smiled back at her mother and walked down the dais into the crowd of guests. She turned back to see Loki watching her curiously from his seat, and her mother’s frown deepening.

The ambience was different with the guests. Ale was splashed as tankards clashed together by happy, somewhat drunken guests, serving girls passed her with trays of meat, laughter was heard from all around. It was so strange how sitting just a little further away could have such a different atmosphere. The princess took a seat between Lady Darcy and Lord Rogers, having been beckoned over, and smiled as she immersed herself in their conversation.

A few days ago doing such a thing would have been inconceivable, she would have feared what her mother would have said about her associating with the wrong people, no matter how important they were. For her mother, the right people were her own family and her husbands, but after the kindness ‘the wrong people’ had shown her that afternoon, she had little care for what her mother said about any thing. Soon the old witch would leave her alone in Asgard, abandon her to a world she knew so little about.

~X~

Loki waited in his chambers, he paced for what felt like hours, pausing every so often to sip his goblet of wine, he would need the alcohol. The feast had died down after a while, guests retired to their rooms, his wife had done so and Natasha had gone with her to prepare her for sleep. He had caught her eye as she made her exit, and she had sent him a knowing look, telling him she would come, yet she was still absent.  He sat in his armchair, his fingers tapping the velvet arms impatiently.

 _Maybe she has changed her mind._ The thought struck him like a dagger, his fingers dug into his chair as he tried to expel the idea from his mind. _Perhaps, after some thought, she has seen you for the monster you really are._

“No.” Loki breathed, and he stared at the arch that lead to the entryway, the large oak door that he wished to hear her knuckles rap against, yet all was silent.

He felt anger bubble up inside of him, anger and fear. She had promised, she had promised to help him, yet she had not come.

 _Perhaps this is good._ His mind told him, and he rested his chin on his thumb, his forefinger curling over his lips. _Perhaps no you run no risk of hurting her like you did Sigyn._

He tightly pressed his eyes shut, the thought of Sigyn was not what he wanted. The guilt was not what he wanted. He wanted Natasha, he wanted her warmth, her comfort, her small, subtle expressions that were imperceptible to any one else but him, he knew her.

 _You have a wife now. You should forget about other women and focus on maintaining the ties between our realm and Vanaheim._ It was his fathers voice in his mind now, and Loki’s anger only burned stronger. How idiotic his father was, he only cared for power and wealth and not the happiness of his own sons. He was happy to throw women at them and force them to marry, he was happy to condemn his son to a lifetime of misery beside a woman he barely knew.

He shifted in his seat, his finger tapping his mouth as he continued to wait, for he would wait the whole night if he had to, and if she did not come then he would accept the fact that he was a monster in her eyes.

~X~

She tapped on his door and waited to hear movement within his chamber, but there was nothing. She had expected him to answer relatively quickly, as he had always done, yet there was silence.

“Loki?” It was just above a whisper, loud enough for him to hear her, yet quiet enough that anyone else would not.

“Come in.” His reply was curt, sharp and barely audible, had she not had her head pressed to the wood, she would not have heard.

The door opened slowly as she pressed against it, and from the entrance she saw him seated in his armchair, his legs akimbo and his stare hard as stone.

“You’re late.”

“I was helping Sigyn.” She replied as she closed the door behind her.

“You never took so long when it was my mother you were helping.” Loki argued, though his voice was calm and smooth, but with an edge to it that told Natasha he was angry.

“Well your mother never had bruises on her that need to be treated.” Natasha stared at him, watched his jaw tighten and his eyes darken. She leaned against the wall on the far end of the room, watching him in the light of the candles. “Did you apologise to her?”

“To Sigyn?”

“Who else?”

“I let her stay in her own chambers, did I not?” Loki shrugged as though he did not care, but it was clear to Natasha that he had regrets that he did not atone for his wrongdoings.

“Did you explicitly tell her you were sorry?” Natasha asked, already knowing the answer.

“You are beginning to sound like my mother.” Loki laughed, and he let his hand fall back onto the arm of his chair and resumed picking at the fabric.

“The queen is a wise woman.” Natasha reminded him, and he nodded in agreement, not meeting her eyes.

“I thought you had changed your mind.” He said in a small voice.

Natasha moved off the wall and stepped towards him. In such a grand room a few steps did nothing much to close their distance, but Loki’s eyes flicked up towards her sudden movement.

“But I did not.” Natasha smiled. She had stopped just in front f the bed, she sat down at the end of it and took off her shoes.

Loki stood from his chair and stepped over to stand in front of her, towering over her almost menacingly. When she finished with her shoes she looked up to him, her face impassive as if awaiting some sort of order.

“Lay back.” Loki said gently.

She did as she was told, moving back on the bed and laying her head amongst the plush feather pillows. The room was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth, and a quiet rustle as Loki pulled his tunic over his head and dropped it on the floor. He crawled over her, one hand slipping up her dress to reach her core as he nipped at the nape of her neck.

“Tell me, Natasha.” Loki hummed in her ear, his fingers rubbed against her centre in slow sensuous motions. “What are _your_ darkest desires?”

“I have none.” She replied, her voice fought to stay steady as his fingers continued to make her feel faint with lust and need.

Loki laughed, his breath hot in her ear. “Do not lie.” He rasped. “We all have them.”

He slipped two fingers inside her and circled his thumb over her clit, grinning as her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted. How he had missed that, to see her face contort in pleasure, to make her writhe beneath his touch. His breeches became uncomfortably tight, but he wanted to lengthen it out, make her ache with need. His other hand reached up to her neck, his fingers slowly wrapping around her soft skin as he pulled on her bottom lip with his teeth.

“And what are yours?” She asked, breathless and her eyes still closed.

Loki withdrew his fingers from her and pressed them to her lips. Her eyes opened and met his gaze, but she kept her mouth closed. His grip around her neck tightened slightly and her gaze hardened. Her next movement was fast, too fast for him to comprehend what was happening before he found himself on his back and her hovering over him, her nails digging into his chest.

“So this is what you desire.” He let his head fall back onto the bed and laughed, but she dug her nails harder into his bare flesh.

“Look at you.” She hummed, one hand moved to palm his cock through his trousers. He stifled a moan, his jaw tightened to keep it at bay. “Prince of Asgard, you get everything you have ever wanted, you get power, and you crave it. What happens when I take it away?”

She tilted her head in thought and moved her hand from his chest to slip it around his neck, mimicking his own move. She was holding two of his most valued parts literally in the palm of her hands, his cock twitched beneath her grasp.

“What are you doing?” He asked his voice raspy as she tightened her grip on his length.

“It’s a power struggle, Loki.” She told him as she gyrated her hips against his. “You lust for control, and you despise feeling helpless… vulnerable. You have never wanted for anything in your life, you have been served hand and foot, does it hurt you when I take away your sense of dominance?”

Her voice was like honey as she spoke against the shell of his ear, her lips brushing against his skin. He let out an involuntary moan at the sensation and she grinned with triumph. She tightened her grip on his neck as she waited for a reply, and Loki let out a coarse laugh.

“How long have you desired this?” He asked, ignoring her question. In response Natasha squeezed harder on both areas and Loki’s eyes widened in surprise. His hands fisted the bed sheets, his knuckles turned white, yet he did not struggle…

“What do you want, Loki?” She questioned, hovering over him. Her fiery curls falling around her face and tickling his own, and her eyes were dark with lust and desire. He laughed again, his tongue pressed against his teeth as his head fell back onto the sheets, exposing his neck further. “What do you want?”

“I want you.” He breathed, his hands moved from the bed to her backside and Natasha stilled.

“Then beg for me.” She replied, her grip on his cock loosened and she ran a finger down its length. Loki’s whole body seemed to stiffen at the touch, his own hands pressing harder on her backside as he tensed. His mouth set in a firm line.

“I will not beg.” He bit off angrily, though his anger faltered when she ground her hips against his once more.

“Beg for me, Loki, or lose me.”

He stared back at her in disbelief, watched as she teased him with her touch. His cock gave another valiant twitch and he bucked his hips to meet hers, but she moved up onto all fours, like some sort of cat.

“Please.” The words spilled from his lips before he could stop himself, but the wicked smile that spread across her lips made it worth it.

“Please what?”

“Please, Natasha.” He gasped, her grip on his length making it hard for him to focus. “I want you.”

“But do you _need_ me?” She teased, her hand trailing from his neck and down his chest.

“Yes, I need you.” He replied urgently. His cock was straining against his breeches, throbbing with need for her like never before.

“Good.” She purred, gracing him with a kiss on his Adams apple.

She unlaced his trousers with slow fingers, and pushed them down, taking his length in hand and stroked it lazily. He watched her intently from where he lay, refusing to give into temptation and put matters in his own hands, for he did like it, the sense of vulnerability, to have himself so exposed to her as she slowly explored his body.

Natasha relished in the soft moan that escaped Loki’s lips when she took him in her mouth, her tongue swirled around his head, hand stroking the base of his cock. Her free hand moved to her core, hidden beneath her dress, but Loki could plainly see what she was doing, and another moan left his lips.

She took him deeper, her lips wrapping around his length as he writhed in pleasure. Finally she moved her head, releasing him with a slick pop, Natasha licked her lips as she smiled down at him and pulled on the laces of her corset. Her dress fell around her waist, exposing her chest to him and his hands moved to palm her breasts, but she grabbed them before he could, holding them down onto the mattress. She removed her dress, so they were both bare, and rolled her hips over his shaft. He groaned in pleasure, his hands struggled for release from her grip in order to touch her, to pleasure her in return.

Natasha released one of his wrists, giving him a look that dared him to touch her, but he stayed still as she used her free hand to position herself atop him. He slipped into her like a sword does its sheath, so perfectly made to fit one another. She rocked her hips back and forth, muttering in his ear just how good he felt inside of her, one hand around his neck, the other tangled itself in his hair. She sucked and bit on his neck, moaned against his skin as Loki bucked his hips to meet her thrusts. He had had many a girls from the pleasure houses in the past, but none of them were so filthy, so vulgar and so undeniably seductive as her. It was agony for him not to grip her waist, not to run his hands through her hair, massage her most intimate places to bring her on the brink of ecstasy. No, she held all the cards in this scenario.

He sat up, pulled his arms from her grasp easily and wrapped them around her waist as he rested his forehead in the nape of her neck. She scratched at his shoulders in protest, bit his collarbone, and he snarled, flipping her over so that she was on her back and he was on top of her once more. Before she could react, he had her wrists pinned above her head with one hand, and with the other he massaged her clit so that she moaned in return. He thrust into her with sharp, passionate movements and her legs wrapped around his waist, accepting her position beneath him.

She knew any effort to release herself from his grasp would be futile, and she did not seem to want to move from her place any way. What Loki was doing to her was heaven, and her eyes rolled back, her lips parted and she let out a coarse cry of pleasure as Loki brought her to her peak He continued to thrust into her as she rode out her orgasm, and brought himself to his own release, burying himself within her to the hilt as he bit down on her soft, skin.

He released her wrists and they lay there for some time, breath heavy, and bodies slick with sweat and their own arousal. Again there was silence, only the occasional crackle of dying embers in the hearth and their own ragged breathing. Natasha was the first to move, she pushed herself from the bed, reclaiming her dress and pulling it over her head. She struggled to retie the corset, and Loki sat up from his haze and took the string in his own hands to tie it himself. Only when he had finished did he come to realise she was leaving.

“You’re going?” He asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. He would have liked her to stay longer, like she used to.

“It grows light outside.” She murmured.

“Have I disgusted you?” He inquired, his voice timid.

At his question she turned to face him, her lips curled in a smirk as she eyed him somewhat lovingly. “Not at all.”

“Then stay.” He grinned, and he wrapped an arm around her middle pulling her back onto the bed. He continued to kiss her neck and ran his hands through her soft curls.

“I suppose I did not disgust you then.” She smiled up at him and he replied with a kiss on the lips.

“If anything, I believe it made me love you all the more.” Natasha stiffened a little beneath him, her smile faltering.

“It is almost as though I have rewarded you for what you have done.” She muttered, her brow creased as though she was trying to figure out what she had done.

“I will not hurt Sigyn again.” Loki replied, his tone serious. “I was a fool, a drunken fool.”

“What did you do with her?” She asked curiously, and she wondered if she even wanted to know.

“What I did with you.” He replied. “Though I did have a little more use of my hands. I never hit her, if that is what you are asking.”

“So you held her …tightly.” Natasha concluded, and Loki nodded.

“I admit I was… ferocious in my movements.” He sighed and rolled onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. “Must we talk about this?”

“I just needed to know.” Natasha said softly. “I think it was because it was her first time, and she expected that romantic nonsense, not that you would be so animalistic.” Loki turned his head to look at her, seemingly bewildered. “You are stronger than you think you are, Loki, but not as cold hearted.”

“I am not cold hearted because I have you.” He whispered and he rolled back over to her, his arms wrapping around her. “We must do that again.”

“Not now.” She laughed, pushing him away softly.

“Tonight then.” Loki smiled. “For it looks like morning.”

“Tonight then.”

“And every night afterwards?” He looked like an excited child, the prospect of her newfound authoritative nature was too enticing. She stared back at him, her lips twitching in the corners. They both knew she would not remain in Asgard for long, but it was a matter that was left unsaid between them, it would only spoil the moment.

“One condition.” She replied.

“So we are bargaining now?” He laughed, holding her tightly.

“You treat Sigyn like the princess that she is and help her feel comfortable in her new home.” Loki stared back at her and nodded his consent.

“Deal.” He replied, and for that Natasha pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss.

She left not long afterwards, having made sure that Loki would make good on his end of the deal. She walked the corridors back to her chamber, head held high with an air of importance and purpose as she passed the servants, none of whom would have guessed where she was returning from, or that Loki’s seed was running down the inside of her thighs, still hot and sticky and exciting her for more.


	15. In Sickness and Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The enemy lives within the walls. Escape his trap."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks and 6,512 words later, I'm back!   
> This chapter was hhhooooorrrrribbbblllle to write, and I've just had a lot going on, so I am sorry if I kept you guys waiting!  
> I hope you guys like!  
> P.s. Has anyone seen Captain America: The Winter Soldier yet? SO good, Nat is such a badass.

A month had passed, Natasha and Loki had created a routine, each night they would spend together, taking turns on dominating each other, with the exception of two nights a week, when Sigyn would sleep in Loki’s chambers to avoid suspicion. As far as Natasha knew, Loki had not bedded Sigyn those nights, and he was always eager to continue their coital deeds the next morning. The month seemed to pass in a euphoric blur, Natasha would spend the morning preparing Sigyn for the day ahead, then she would join Frigga in the gallery after breakfast to help her with her correspondence, and the days would continue peacefully until the evenings when Loki would call her to his chambers, and she would join him all too eagerly.

She never found herself with nothing to do, always there was some matter to attend to, someone to speak with or meet. With the abundance of guests once again residing in the palace, Natasha found herself with no shortage of friends. On one day she was invited to dine with Lady Pepper and Lady Maria in the palace gardens, another she trained with Sif in the grounds, and even Lady Jane would walk with Natasha as she went from errand to errand. It was a pleasant change, as she had transitioned from the young, innocent girl from Midgard, who was far too introverted for company, now she had a great deal more than she had ever imagined.

The plans for the wedding were underway, and every so often Natasha was forced to endure hours of tediously standing up straight whilst the dressmakers measured her body and scrutinized her curiously. Sif had always joined her for such events, partially so she could chuckle from the sidelines, but mostly because Natasha had begged her ceaselessly until she had complied. There was also the matter of where the celebration would take place, what the guests would eat, what entertainment would be provided for them, and such thoughts made Natasha’s head spin. She knew not what to provide for the guests, and had such little experience with hosting such celebrations. Clint was little help, he would take to the woods with his comrades to hunt, and gods how Natasha wanted to hunt, to feel the power of taking a life with a simple flick of a dagger or releasing an arrow. Loki would go with them and relay the days activities onto Natasha as they lay in each other’s arms: Who killed what, who killed the most, who was most idiotic. He would pull her close and murmur in her ear how ridiculous she was to feel jealousy. “When you have spent a whole war with such men, you will not wish to go hunting with them, that I am sure.” He had said, but Natasha had sighed, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck. She was to marry one of them.

Ivan’s health had worsened, and he struggled for breath as he lay in his bed, where he had been confined for the last month. Natasha would visit him as much as possible, bring him herbal remedies from Eir to help alleviate his pain. His sickness was foreign to Eir and the rest of the healers, and they could do little more than take away the pain, it seemed that there was no cure. Ivan assured her it was merely the end of his time, and that the gods had given him a good, long life, but now it was too end. Nevertheless, Natasha did all she could to search for a cure. She scoured the library in her free time, skimming through books on healers, herbs and remedies, and it would be _Loki_ that would endeavour to distract _her_ from studying.

Despite finding nothing on Ivan’s condition, Natasha learned a sufficient amount about herbs and how they may be used for healing. So when Sigyn complained about a slight pain in her stomach, Natasha knew exactly what she needed to soothe the pain.

“It tastes grotesque.” Sigyn murmured from where she lay, covered with heavy blankets that were embroidered with the finest patterns. A fire crackled in the hearth beside her bed to warm her, but it did nothing to soothe her temper. “Can you not put anything in to sweeten the taste?”

“It is not a delicacy to eat for your own pleasure.” Natasha retorted. “If it helps with your pains, it matters little what it tastes like.”

“There is no point.” Sigyn sighed as she waved away the offered vial of medicine. “I will just throw it up later.”

Natasha frowned and looked at Eir who sat on the other side of Sigyn’s bed, the healer merely frowned back, as bewildered as she.

“What do you mean?” Eir asked, turning to the princess.

“I cannot keep anything down.” Sigyn divulged with another sigh. “I fear I may have eaten something bad at the feast last night.”

“You should have told us this.” Natasha scolded, picking up the heavy tome she had obtained from the library, one of the many she had taken in order to learn more about healing. She placed the book on her lap and flicked urgently through the pages. “I have been trying to identify your sickness, perhaps it would have been easier had I known that you could not keep down your meals.”

“Get some rest.” Eir said in a soft voice, and she smoothed her hand over Sigyn’s arm in comfort. She and Natasha both rose from their places and made their leave.

Once they had closed the door behind them and were out in the corridor Natasha turned to Eir, clutching the book to her chest.

“I think I may know what ails her.” Natasha informed the healer, a grim look upon her features.

“Aye, me too.” Eir replied, her lips pursed in thought. “But only time will tell.”

“Have you found any remedies for Ivan yet?” Natasha asked as the two of them began walking down the corridor. She had too much hope, that she knew, but she would not give up on him, no matter how hopeless things seemed.

“I have not.” Eir looked down at her feet as she walked, unable to answer and look her in the eye. “Visit him, sit by his bed and talk, that is the best you can do, instead of wasting your time amongst the dusty library books.”

“It is not a waste of time if there is a cure.” Natasha murmured in reply.

“There is no cure for age, my lady. Ivan knows his time has come, and he has accepted it. You should too.” Natasha stared straight ahead, her lips pressed together firmly as she struggled to keep her emotions repressed. Eir glanced at her and paused in her tracks, murmuring an apology. “I will procure an herbal mixture to help settle Sigyn’s stomach, it should be ready in a few days time. Go see to Sigyn, she may be restless.”

Natasha watched as Eir bowed and walked away without another word. She would not cry. She would not. She clenched and unclenched her jaw, and with a sigh, Natasha turned back to Sigyn’s chambers.

Eir was right, Sigyn was restless, and when Natasha entered her chambers she found the princess attempting to lift herself from her bed.

“What are you doing?” Natasha asked, rushing over to help her. Sigyn reached beneath her bed and acquired a small pot, which she then lifted to her mouth. “Are you alright?”

Sigyn heaved into the pot, her chest rising and falling with each gag, and all Natasha could do was stroke her hand over Sigyn’s back for comfort and wince at the grotesque smell. The blonde lifted her head from the pot when she was done and turned to her handmaiden.

“I told you.” She rasped, forcing a small smile.

“Rest.” Natasha sighed, pushing her back onto the bed. “I shall order a serving girl to bring you some more water.”

She pulled the covers over Sigyn’s chest and brushed a loose curl from her forehead. As she moved her arm back to her side Sigyn caught sight of something and grabbed her wrist to inspect it. She pushed back the silk on Natasha’s sleeve, revealing a large purplish bruise. Her eyes went wide and she looked up at her handmaiden with absolute horror in her expression.

“Who did this to you?” She asked, her voice was weak from sickness. She pushed back more of Natasha’s sleeve, holding her tightly in pace so she could not pull away. Natasha tugged away from Sigyn’s grasp but it held fast. “Natasha, tell me.”

It was all too familiar of that morning when Natasha discovered the marks on Sigyn, the horror and the confusion that she had felt was now portrayed on Sigyn’s features.

“Take a wild guess.” Natasha replied, her tone conveying no emotion. She would not admit that she, personally, enjoyed Loki’s rough nature, that she found it exciting, because she trusted him, because she knew he would never _really_ do any legitimate damage to her, and besides, she had her way with him enough to make up for the marks he left on her. But Sigyn would not understand. She was young, she barely knew Loki. If only she knew. If only she could understand that his desires were different from her own, that he never wished to scare so completely, perhaps they could have been well matched.

“Loki.” Sigyn murmured bitterly. “To think, I had begun to enjoy his company, and now I know what he has been doing to you the whole time. Bastard.”

“Sigyn, what he has done he has done at my own request.” Sigyn stared up at her, bewildered. Natasha bit back a sigh and shifted on the side of the bed awkwardly. This would take some explaining.

“That morning, you said you would speak to him. What did you say?” Sigyn asked quietly, fear in her bright eyes.

“I told him to never hurt you again.”

“But what was the price?”

“I would take your place.” Natasha replied. There was little point in dancing around the truth. Sigyn deserved honesty, and lies would only hurt more.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Her voice was a mere whisper, left hoarse from her previous heaving, and her eyes glazed as they stared into Natasha’s, trying to read her for a reply.

“You are a princess, you are far more valuable that I. I promised to protect you, to look after you, I shall not go back on that promise.” Natasha drew her hand away and stood up, turning to the door. “If Loki could not fulfil his desires on you, he would seek it elsewhere. With me it is consensual.”

She reached the door when Sigyn spoke up again from her bed. “I shall not allow you to do such a thing.”

“You have no choice in this matter, my lady.” Natasha bowed her head and made her leave again. She tugged down her sleeve, covering the marks once she was alone in the hall, and cursed Loki for having pinned her arms above her head so ferociously, next time he would be more careful, and so would she.

~X~

A week later she was in her chambers, watched by a number of Frigga’s ladies as she was slipped into a long golden gown. Soft, ethereal fabric flowed from the waist down, sweeping the floor as she moved. Golden bands were slipped onto her upper arms and attached by an elegant gold fabric that hung from the bands draping behind her like a cape, her hair was delicately plaited into a chignon, soft wisps of hair framing her face, her lips painted a scarlet shade, and her corset pulled so tightly she could scarce take breath.

She was a bride.

The ladies looked up at her proudly, Sif amongst them and grinning at her with so much enthusiasm, but Natasha could not share her excitement, not on such a day. She turned to look in the mirror, barley recognising herself, and nodded at the servants that had aided her with her preparations. They smiled back at her, there was so much smiling, too much, and she forced a smile back.

“The guests have all taken their seats.” A girl said from the doorway, but Natasha did not turn to look at her, instead she stared back at her own reflection, dreading the look on Loki face when he saw her, the desire that he did not deserve, the feeling lust that she should not give him.

_My Natasha. Mine._

She was walked to the ceremony chamber, her entourage of ladies following her, the sounds of shoes clacking on the stone floors and the swish of fabric as their dresses swept the ground were the only sounds. Her heart pounded in her chest, all that ran through her mind was the reminder that she should look at Clint -and only Clint- when she entered the chamber. She could not look to Sif for comfort, she could not look at Frigga to see her proud smile, and she could _not_ look to Loki to see his response to the whole affair.

 _I love you._ He had told her. _Is that so complicated?_

The ladies filed into the chamber one by one, Sif was last, and she embraced Natasha with words of assurance and left. She was alone in the hall, waiting for Ivan to arrive and deliver her to her husband, hand her over to her next fate, but no one came. The time alone only built to the fear that she already had bubbling up inside her, and she cursed it. She never expected to cower at the prospect of marriage, cringe perhaps, but not cower.

The sound of approaching footsteps came from down the hall and she turned, her lips parting in bewilderment as the king stopped in front of her. He was dressed in ceremonial armour, much like what he wore for Loki’s wedding. He had no guards with him, no noblemen to flank him and keep him from view. It was the first time she had been alone with him, if she disregarded the doormen of course.

“Lord Ivan sends his regards and well wishes on this day.” Odin said in his naturally regal tone, closing the distance between them.

“Where is he?”

“He could not leave his bed, he is too weak.” He replied solemnly. “As neither your father nor your guardian are here, it is my duty as Allfather to walk you to your husband.”

She stared back at him, unable to fathom a sentence, so instead she turned back to the doors to the chamber, as though preparing herself for her entrance. Odin chuckled beside her and turned as well.

“You are the picture of your mother.” He murmured, his voice strangely gentle.

There was so much she wanted to say to him, too much for their short time alone together. She wanted to shout at him, berate him for being so cruel to his son, but instead she stood, breathing soothingly to calm her nerves.

“What happens when I leave?” She asked finally, and she silently relished in the way Odin cocked his brow in surprise. “Will Loki ever learn the secrets that you keep from him?”

“Loki shall never learn such things, I have hopes that his wife shall keep him as occupied as you do.” He chuckled again as Natasha’s glance flickered to the guards, uncertainty in her gaze. “Do not fear, all guards are sworn to silence, if not then I am sure Váli and Hœnir would have spread the news of your frequent visits to the library by now.”

She looked at him suspiciously, knowing he presumably had his guards relay any concerning information regarding his sons to him. He sent her a sideways glance, his lips quirking in a smug smile.

“And if Sigyn does not please him?” She challenged, tilting her chin a little higher.

“You shall ensure that she does.” Odin turned to face her fully, his bulky shape towering over her threateningly.

“Since when was that my task?” She glared back at him defiantly, and her heart beat so fast that she was sure he could hear it.

“Oh, you are fiery.” Odin mused, his lips twisting into a smirk. “It is no wonder that Loki took a liking to you.”

“What are you keeping from him?” All defiance and anger in her tone lost to curiosity, and she scrutinised the king as he thought over her inquiry.

“That is none of your concern.” He replied tersely, turning back to the door.

“It is of my concern.” She snapped, her anger rose in her again, her frustration at how this man was so cruel to his own blood. “You will tell me.”

“Or what?” Odin snipped. “The last time I checked, I was king, and you were nothing but a whore.”

“Better to be a whore who is loved than a king who is despised.” She replied coldly. It was true. The past few months had given her many new companions, Jane, Darcy, Pepper. Odin had his family, they were the only ones who could possibly love him genuinely, all the rest were nobles, lords and soldiers who served their realm more than their king. They claimed loyalty, not love.

Odin said nothing, and so they stood in silence until music began to flow from inside the chamber and Natasha felt her nerves rush back to her. Odin took her arm, and when the grand doors opened, he led her inside.

Clint was standing at the top of the dais, his lips cracked into a grin as she walked into the chamber, the light filtering down upon her from the window and causing her dress to sparkle golden in the glow. All the guests were standing, watching her as she walked with the king on her arm. She supposed she should have felt special, to have the king presenting her at her wedding, but his tight grasp was a grim reminder of how he owned her, how he controlled her.

She gazed up at Clint, dressed in a deep purple jacket with golden embroidery, a dark cloak slung over one shoulder and pinned with his notorious house emblem, the hawk. She smiled up at him, it was partially genuine, for, if she had to marry any one, she was glad it was Barton.

Natasha could feel Loki’s eyes on her as she approached the dais, but she did not look, and as she passed all she saw was a blur of black, green and gold. Odin released her from his grasp as they reached the end of the dais, pressing his lips to her hand and walking to his seat beside the queen. She made the climb to the altar by herself, and when she reached the end of her walk she felt relief flush over her, the worst part was over. All she had to do was endure the ceremony, and then there would be the celebration.

Clint smiled and took her hand, his gaze moved to the guests, presumably at Loki, as he paled somewhat, and back to her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

The ceremony dragged on, it was not so long as Loki and Sigyn’s as they did not have any royal rituals to partake in, thank the gods. Though after some time Natasha did begin to feel the effect of standing for so long, and she longed for a chair to sit upon.

The guests stood and applauded when it was done, and the newlywed couple looked over their audience. Natasha’s attention was caught on the youngest prince, his features plane and stony as he looked up at her, Sigyn at his side smiling. Natasha had managed a smile for him at his wedding, though it seemed he could not muster up the same encouragement. His possessiveness knew no bounds.

_My Natasha. Mine._

~X~

The celebration was held outside, beneath canopies of golden material, as the afternoon sun beat down upon them. It was too good a day to hold a feast indoors, so Frigga had helped arrange the reception in one of the palace gardens. It was beautiful. The tables were adorned with exquisite ornaments, vines of flowers that ran down the middle of the tables, wrapping around bowls of fruits, platters of meats, and Natasha and Clint were given two grand seats at the head of the main table, opposite the king and queen, who sat on the other end. It was indeed a great privilege to have the royal family attend their wedding, and even have been presented at the ceremony by the king, yet with all the kindness Frigga had shown her, Natasha could not wait to leave Asgard.

As she sat, surrounded by friends, drinking and singing, around her table, she could not help thinking about her new life in Midgard. She knew how terribly she would miss everyone at court, but the prospect of starting afresh was so tempting. She looked up from her seat to see Loki on the far end of the table, deep in conversation with Sigyn, and she smiled. It was progress. Weeks ago Loki would not spare his wife a second glance, but now, now he was making an effort, and whether it was to spite Natasha for marrying she did not care, she would be able to leave Asgard knowing that Sigyn was comfortable. At the far end of the table she spotted Odin, the king glanced from his son to her, and with a grim expression he shook his head minutely, as if to say ‘Not good enough.’

~X~

The room was quiet as she and Clint walked in, a fire crackled in the hearth, and some handmaidens had burned some oils so that the room smelled of cinnamon and other delicious spices. She sat on the end of the bed, watching as Clint poured himself a glass of wine, he looked to her and raised a brow to ask if she wanted any, she politely shook her head.

“How are you feeling?” He asked hesitantly, trying to spark a conversation that would pull them from the awkward silence.

“I am well.” Natasha replied, understanding that her answer did not open up many opportunities to continue the conversation.

“I suppose you are not so nervous.” Clint murmured. “I sometimes forget this will not be your first time.”

“It will be my first time with you.” She looked up at him, willing for him to step close and take her before the moment dragged on for too long.

He moved forward and sat beside her on the bed, taking her hands in his. “Do you want to?” He asked, and he stared into her eyes, waiting for her reply.

“Yes.” She whispered, the words escaping her lips before she could think.

Clint smiled and took her lips with his. He tasted of wine mixed with mead, but soon she could not think of the way he tasted, instead she was distracted by his hands roaming her form, moving her down to the bed, undressing her.

She felt bad for him. For so long she had felt so sorry for herself, complaining that she was forced into an unwelcome marriage, all the while not realising that he was in the same position. He was now tied to her, a tainted woman, forced to sleep with the prince while she stood by his side under the guise of compliant wife. She was sure that such a marriage was not one he had ever imagined, nor hoped, himself to have.

Still, as he caressed her body beneath him, as he trailed his lips over her skin, it was almost lovingly that he did so. He whispered promises, words of affection in her ear, not possessiveness. It was tender. It was nice.

_My Natasha._

~X~

“So I suppose I must now call you Lady Barton.” Sif mused with a twist of her lips. She nudged Natasha as they strode down the lengthy hall, the large golden pillars that lined the walls loomed over them like menacing watchmen, towering over them as they passed.

Natasha sent her a look, and Sif grinned triumphantly at how she had managed to coax a reaction from her.

“The ceremony was quite beautiful.” Sif continued, falling into step beside her. “And Barton looked most handsome. I admit I may have been rather jealous of you.”

Natasha smiled and let out a breath of laughter, but she said nothing, and Sif huffed beside her.

“Oh come now, you have hardly said a word since I found you in the gallery this morning. Was last night really so bad?”

“It was fine.” Natasha said quietly. And it was, it was more than fine, it would have been amazing had it not been for the nagging sensation of guilt that pooled in her stomach. But to whom did she feel guilt towards? She did not know.

At the far end of the hall a door crashed open, Thor, Fandrall, Volstagg, Stark and Loki all paraded in, deep in conversation. Loki seemed to trail behind, half listening to the words passed between the men. They stopped in their tracks as they noticed the two women standing at the other end of the hall, and as if thinking the same thoughts, wide grins spread on each of their lips, even Loki’s.

“Good morrow to you, ladies.” Thor smiled, closing the distance from them, his men followed. They each gave a curt bow, and in return Sif and Natasha curtsied, smiling back at them.

“Good morrow.” Natasha smiled. Her gaze lingered on the youngest prince for a moment, before turning back to his brother.

“I did not get the chance to tell you, Lady Romanoff, just how exquisite you looked yesterday.” Thor smiled cheerfully, and was followed by a murmur of agreement.

“Indeed.” Fandrall cut in. “In fact the entire day was exquisite, and I am sure you are enjoying married life so far.”

“My lord.” Natasha laughed. “It has scarce been a day, but I shall say that I have so far found my position of a wife as very agreeable.”

“I am happy to hear it.” Thor laughed. Loki grinned along with them all, which to Natasha did come across as somewhat odd. Had he not looked angered at the ceremony? What had changed? “So many weddings there have been lately.” Thor mused. “Volstagg, I am sure you are benefiting from the myriad of feasts.”

“And when shall we expect you to be wed?” Sif cut in before Volstagg could react to Thor’s comment. The prince’s smile dropped as he regarded her, and a glimmer of sadness passed his eyes.

“Yes, your grace, Lady Jane Foster has been a guest here for some time.” Fandrall commented. “When shall we expect her to become our future queen?”

Thor stiffened, his gaze never parting from Sif’s. “I know not when.” He answered, voice small. “But such a decision is my fathers. I shall marry when the time is right.”

Lord Stark grabbed the prince by the shoulders and began scolding him for sounding so melancholy about a match with Jane. He led him away, and Volstagg and Fandrall followed, inviting Sif and Natasha to walk with them.

Sif fell in step with Fandrall and Volstagg, but as Natasha began to walk behind them she felt a soft tug at her dress, and she stepped back so she could walk beside Loki. He did not say anything as they walked, though his knuckles did brush against hers now and then, which perhaps was an accident, but it was a welcome one.

When Sif and the others had fallen into a deep conversation about a hunting party to be held in the afternoon, Loki wrapped his arm around Natasha’s waist and pulled her away to the side of the corridor behind a looming column. He held her there, trapping her against the pillar with his arms, shrouded by darkness. He still said nothing, not until the voices of their friends were a safe distance away, and there was a distance clamour of large doors opening and closing.

“I missed you last night.” Loki murmured against the nape of her neck, allowing his hands to move from their position on the wall to roam her form.

“My lord, they will wonder where we have gotten to.” She smirked, not caring really.

“So be it.” He rasped. He captured her lips in a passionate frenzy, pulling her flush against him and holding her tightly as if to never let go.

She stiffened slightly in his grasp, the memory of Clint’s touch returning to her, the guilt.

As though he had read her mind, Loki let her go, staring at her with slight confusion. “There’s an odd look in your eye.” He muttered, taking her chin in his fingers and tilting her head to meet his gaze. “Guilt.”

A look of disgust passed over his features, and he let her go, stepping back so his face was partially covered in a shadow. “You lay with Barton, didn’t you?”

“He is my husband.” Natasha replied, frowning. “What did you expect?”

“I expect you to have some semblance of loyalty.” He said, his voice monotone, something he did when he was angered. “How am I to touch you, to kiss you, knowing he has tainted you with his rough, lowborn hands?”

“Tainted me?” Natasha gasped, how Loki could be so ignorant bewildered her. “Is that it? Need I remind you who took me into their bed before I was wed? If anyone has tainted me, Loki, it is you.”

“Does he know?” Loki whispered menacingly, as he loomed over her, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Does he know how the prince of Asgard has ‘tainted’ his _precious_ wife. Fucked her like he never could, had her every which way, had her scream his name and writhe beneath him?”

“Stop it.” She demanded, pushing him away from her. “I say nothing about your marriage to Sigyn, in fact I encourage it! But you cannot do the same for me, instead you treat me like your own personal pleasure girl who cannot do as she pleases.”

“I detest the idea of you with another man.” Loki spat, as if his words were reasoning enough for his cruelty. “Am I not enough?”

“It is not about you, Loki. Not everything is about you.”

“When you are concerned, then it is about me.” Loki rasped. “You are mine, Natasha, I thought I had made that clear.”

“I am not.” She replied calmly, levelling her gaze. “If I belong to any one, I belong to my husband.”

With a terse curtsey she moved away before he could grab her and rushed from the hallway. She shook her head, attempting to expel the memory of their conversation from her mind. She was no ones possession.

~X~

Tyr opened the door for her when she arrived at Ivan’s rooms, his face drained and tired. He offered Natasha a small, unconvincing smile and showed her to her father’s bedchamber.

The man she had once known as Ivan was no more, in his place lay a pale, wrinkled old man, drowning in numerous bed sheets.  He stretched a limp arm out from beneath the blankets towards her, murmuring something incoherent, his eyes wide. Natasha walked slowly over to him, taking his hand in hers as she took her seat beside his bed.

“Natalia?” Ivan breathed, his chest rose and fell heavily, as though he had done some great exercise. His hollowed features made him almost unrecognisable, there was little life behind his milky eyes, and he wore an expression of fear as he watched her adjust in her seat.

“I’m here, Ivan.” She whispered, clutching his hands tightly.

“Your wedding.”

“Was beautiful.” She finished for him, and a hint of a smile pulled at his cracked lips.

“I am sorry, child.” Ivan croaked, his eyes glistened with tears, but Natasha would not cry. She would not. “Tyr.”

Tyr, who had been watching from the doorway, stepped forward urgently. “My lord?”

Ivan said nothing, but lazily flicked his hand in the direction of the exit. Tyr clenched his jaw, but nodded obediently and stepped back. “I shall give the two of you a moment.”

Tyr shut the door behind him gently, his footsteps falling away into silence, the only sound was Ivan’s heavy breathing and the crackle of the hearth. Ivan kept his tired gaze on the door, as if waiting for the correct moment, and Natasha watched, intrigued.

Ivan jumped to life, clutching both of her hands tightly, his eyes panicked as he stared up at her. “Listen to me, child.” He rasped, and he pulled her close to him, her ear pressed against his mouth. “The enemy lies within the walls.”

“Ivan, what are you…”

“The books. The books.” His grasp on her hands loosened and he fell back to the bed. His burst of energy enough to drain him completely, and now he looked paler than ever. “Find the secret, then burn the books.”

“The secret?” Natasha whispered urgently, leaning over Ivan, willing him not to give up on her.

“The enemy lives within the walls.” He panted, his body fell limp and his gaze left Natasha, moving to stare blankly at the ceiling above him. “Escape his trap.”

And with that, he was gone.

The next few moments seemed to pass in a blur for Natasha. She remembered screaming, howling in grief. Clutching Ivan’s body, trying to shake him back to life as Lord Tyr and Lord Fitch pulled his lifeless form from her grasp. She was moved, strong arms hoisting her up and laying her down onto a plush chaise longue, and there she lay for some time, the world going dark around her.

~X~

She woke in a darkened room, alone. She was still in Ivan’s chambers, though she supposed many of his followers had left to reveal the news to the king and queen, and some had returned to their rooms to rest. There was distant chatter in another room, yet Natasha wished to be alone. She headed for the door, her feet scuffing on the stone flooring from exhaustion. Her cheeks were still wet with tears, and she wiped at them furiously as she went, her hair wild and messy around her face, and she was thankful that the halls were empty.

She returned to her chambers, tired, cold and disorientated. She knew not what time of day it was. She moved to her window and pulled back the curtains to see a darkened landscape, the moon hung, full, in the sky, pale and cold like a haunting specter.

Natasha lay herself down on her bed, too exhausted to think. Her mind felt like it had burned out, after all the screaming, the tears, she wouldn’t have been surprised if it had. She let herself breathe slowly, staring up at the ceiling from her bed, clearing her mind. It was something she had always done as a child, when she had argued with Ivan, and retreated to her room in fury, she would lie on her bed and breathe to calm herself. But this time there had been no argument, no fury, just pain.

There was a strange scent in the air, pleasant, but new. She turned her head to see a small object on her pillow beside her head. With tired fingers she reached out to take it, feeling it’s soft texture, like flowers. She pressed the object to her nose and inhaled, smelling the distinct scent of chamomile and lavender. She felt her lips quirk into a smile as she rolled the sprig of herbs in her fingers, allowing the sweet scented oils to press against the pads of her fingers.

She rose from her bed in the darkness of her room, brushing down her dress that must have been crumpled and untidy by now, and brushing stray hairs from her face as she left. The halls were hauntingly quiet, all that was to be heard were her shoes against the stone, the distant sounds of servants shuffling about and the torches that crackled in their burners against the walls. Natasha clutched the sprig of herbs by her side, they were more than just an apology, they were an invitation.

Indeed, Loki was sat amongst the bushes of herbs in the palace gardens, his pale face lit by the moonlight as he gazed up to the stars. She watched him for a moment, appreciating the beauty of his sharp features, but as though sensing her presence, Loki turned to see her, his features softening sympathetically as he observed her.

“I head the news.” He murmured softly. “I am so sorry, Natasha.”

“He was aged.” She muttered, moving to stand beside him, he rose to meet her. “It was bound to happen at any moment.”

Regardless of her mask of apathy, Loki pulled her into him, clutching her tightly against his chest, his hand cradling her head and the other held the small of her back.

She rested herself into the crook of his neck, her own arms wrapping around him, but she did not cry.

“Let us leave this place.” He whispered into her soft curls.

“Is Sigyn not sleeping in your chamber tonight?” Natasha asked, regardless if Sigyn actually was in Loki’s bed, she did not feel like bedding him at such a time.

“No, I mean, let us leave Asgard.” He pulled away, gazing into her eyes with hope.

“Loki, I told you…”

“You stayed for Ivan, now he is gone.” His words were soft, as he took her hands in his own. “We can be free, we can explore the lands we have read about together, the lands that are said to be lost, and we can be together, Natasha, just the two of us.”

“I can’t, Loki.” She sighed. As much as she longed to explore the world with him, to be free, she knew why she could not, why he could not.

“Why?” Loki pulled away, his brow set in a frown. “There is nothing holding you here, you never wanted to marry Barton, I never wanted to marry Sigyn. We can leave them, we can go and start a new life, together.”

“I promised to look after Sigyn.” She murmured softly, and by Loki’s expression she could tell he was not content with such an answer.

“And you have.” He replied, his voice stiff. “If anything, she would be much better looked after when we are gone. She shall not need to fear me if I am not there.”

“Sigyn is pregnant, Loki.” Loki tensed at her words, his face paling even more. “Sigyn is pregnant, and I have promised to look after her. I cannot leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: PLEASE REVIEW! 
> 
> I just really would like to know your thoughts on how the story is progressing. Last chapter I didn't get many reviews, so I guess I would like assurance that you actually enjoy what I'm writing here.
> 
> Love to you all! x


	16. You Can't Hide Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We are so broken, you and I.” He murmured, and she nodded, gazing into the distance like he had done before, her hand still placed on her abdomen. “Let us be broken together, away from this place.”
> 
> “No, Loki.” She turned to meet his gaze, faces inches apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys! I would make a promise to get the next chapter out sooner, but you know what happens when I do that. So, I’m going to make a promise to try to get it out sooner. I guess I’ve just had a super busy few weeks, but I also think that it’s the fact that this is the longest fic I’ve ever written, and it feels (for me) like it’s dragging on. I’m not giving up on it though, because I’m quite proud of this fic, I think it’s one of my favourite fics that I’ve written.
> 
> ANYWAY. I hope you enjoy this chapter! And thank you to every one who left a review last time. Sorry I didn’t get to reply, blame my own laziness, but I was super grateful for all of them! x

“I- I do not understand.” Loki’s jaw hung open after the words escaped his lips in a low whisper. His eyes stared past Natasha and into the distance. “How?”

“You’re a clever man, Loki. I am sure you know how this comes to pass.” Natasha gibed with a small twist of her lips, but Loki was far from amused, as it seemed.

With a snarl, he walked past her, seating himself beneath tall cedar tree, his spine rested against the thick, aged trunk. He brought his knees to his chest, his arms rested against his knees, and he looked before him as if having witnessed a ghastly event, and not being quite able to believe his eyes.

“I cannot do it. I cannot care for a child.” He rested his head in his hands, his fingers knotted in his raven locks. “I am not made for this.”

“Funny, I thought such news would bring you at least _some_ joy.” Natasha mused, and she moved to sit beside him, though she did so gingerly, as Loki’s expression conveyed an emotion far from joy.

“And how, pray tell, I am I supposed to feel joy?”

“This baby ties you to Sigyn in a way marriage cannot.” Natasha explained, and sighed when Loki’s features only twisted into a more sour expression. “You have so little to talk about together, you hardly speak, but now you have some common ground, this child.”

Loki sniffed and looked away, his face thoughtful, and Natasha knew he understood, he just did not wish to admit that she was right. He frowned into the distance as though falling into some deep thought, and Natasha waited for him to speak.

“How long has it been?” He asked, startling Natasha with both his abruptness and his vagueness.

“Since what?” She asked, and she kept her voice low, so not to irk him with distractions. After spending some months in his bed, Natasha had learned to tread carefully when Loki’s mood was foul.

“Since I first bed you.”

“I hardly think…” Natasha began to protest to Loki’s question, but he shot her a look that dared her to argue. The look sent a bolt of pleasure between her legs, and she shifted, knowing now was no time for such thoughts. “I do not know exactly, my lord. Some two months, I should think. Perhaps more.”

“Then how is it that _you_ are not yet pregnant?” Loki looked off into the distance once more, his brow creased in confusion. Long black strands of his hair wisped against his cheeks in the gentle morning breeze, and his lips grew tight in discontent, but nothing could hide the sadness that had overcome him since she had delivered the news of his child. “We have coupled far more than I have with Sigyn.”

“Perhaps I am not made for this either.” She replied softly, her hand moving to her belly by its own accord.

Loki’s expression softened and he turned to her, comprehending her meaning. It was not as though she had wished for children, but upon coming to such a conclusion, it irked her that she was possibly unable to conceive. For many women with the same problem, it seemed to be one of the worst things in the world, to not be a mother, but to Natasha, it was just another crack in the glass, another fault in her imperfect façade. Natasha Romanova, the forgotten daughter, an infertile whore. Well, at least she did not have to worry about bastard children.

She thought about Clint, how he would be a wonderful father given the chance, a chance that she could not give him. She sighed and leant against Loki’s shoulder, he promptly wrapped an arm around her and nuzzled his nose into her soft red curls.

“We are so broken, you and I.” He murmured, and she nodded, gazing into the distance like he had done before, her hand still placed on her abdomen. “Let us be broken together, away from this place.”

“No, Loki.” She turned to meet his gaze, faces inches apart. “You will stand beside your wife, and you will support your child. Or leave without me, for Sigyn needs someone by her side.”

“I will not leave without you.” He muttered angrily, slumping down against the tree in frustration.

“Good, then Sigyn has nothing to worry about.”

“Gods woman, do you not know what you do to me?” Loki grabbed her neck, pushing her down to lie against the grass. His fingers lightly pressed against her throat, threatening to cut off her air, but she knew he would not. “I am a prince, how dare you tell me what I should do.”

“If you wish to run away from Asgard, then run away.”

“Not without you.” He rasped, slowly, each word direct and elongated.

His hands moved from their grasp around her neck and into her locks, as he brought her head up so her lips could meet his.

Natasha moaned against him, tugging on his lapels to bring his closer, and he exhaled in a response of lust and triumph. His hands roamed up her skirt as she hastily unbuckled his breeches, and they had each other beneath the cedar tree, gripping at patches of dewy grass, ripping it from the soil as the sun began to rise over the horizon.

They parted shortly after their coupling. Natasha with twigs buried in her messy curls and grass stains on her skirt, and Loki with his fingernails grubby from gripping at the earth in ecstasy. Their farewell was far from cheerful, despite their previous intimacy, Loki was still displeased with news of his wife, and he kissed Natasha goodbye with grim expression.

~X~

Natasha returned to her room, walking hastily through the halls so not to be seen in such a state. They day was approaching, and already servants were rushing about in preparation.

She shut the door to her chamber behind her and glanced around the place. After so long of staying in Asgard, the room had come to feel like a home, a safe haven, but how much longer would she have to stay there? Clint wanted her with him in Midgard, but now with Sigyn’s pregnancy, how much of Clint’s patience would be tested?

Natasha took a seat at the desk in her room and slumped forward, resting her head on where her arms were folded on the table. A long, tired groan escaped her lips, and she rubbed her hand lazily over her face.

_The enemy lives within the walls._

_Burn the books._

‘Books. Books.’ Natasha thought sluggishly, and she raised another sigh as she reached for her stack of books on herbal remedies and medicine. They were thick, dusty and ponderous tomes, yet she knew that staying to aid Sigyn required a sufficient amount of knowledge on wellbeing, and health.

Being too awake to retire, and with the sun already making it’s ascent into the sky, Natasha began to flick through the pages of a book of herbs, one that she had studied in order to placate Sigyn’s stomach pains. She laughed to herself as her eyes scanned the pages, for not so long ago Natasha would have happily allowed Sigyn to carry her pain without aid. Yet, now she voluntarily vowed to help the girl, despite their past disputes, because although Sigyn was indeed an arrogant, spoiled girl, she was innocent, young and helpless. Her parents had returned to Vanaheim, and though Frigga would sup with her and sit with her in the day, Sigyn really did not have anyone without Natasha.

It felt strange, there was no denying it, that Natasha was the source of comfort and happiness to more than one being. She was used to a solitary life, and had Ivan not moved her up to Asgard, she would have likely died alone. She laughed again, for she was far from alone. But such a fact did not comfort her in the slightest.

All thoughts lead back to Loki, and she shook her head, regaining her focus on the tome in front of her. She settled on a page about a rare plant called Noctis Mortis, a beautiful, golden flowered plant, with deep green vines that creep over walls and floors. The book described the plant to cause death the instant it is consumed. She did not know why she was transfixed on the words, nor why she ran her thumb over the elegant drawing of the deadly herb, but something felt strange.

_“Crushed and condensed, the Noctis Mortis makes for a powerful poison, but diluted, the impact is lengthened and the subject weakened over a substantial amount of time, until, finally, they pass._

_“The poison of Noctis Mortis is untraceable, often causing it’s victims to appear killed from natural causes.”_

He eyes sprung awake, and she stared with wide eyes at the wall in front of her. Ivan’s last words echoed through her mind. “Enemy… Within the walls.” She muttered perplexedly.

Could it be? Were Ivan’s last words a hint to his death?

_Find the secret, then burn the books._

A sensation of pure horror washed over her as Natasha began to believe that Ivan’s death was not caused by age, as he may have thought, but instead murder. The fool himself had not known until his last moments. She recalled how he had ordered Tyr from the room, no doubt to keep her safe from suspicion. If any one discovered that she knew the truth of Ivan’s murder then she would be in as much danger as he had been.

She frowned, closing the book and pushing it away from her in disdain. Why would any one want Ivan dead? He was a good man, surely. Or perhaps he was not murdered, and this was Natasha being too curious, too paranoid for her own good. But, why then, had Ivan said such things to her? He was sick, most probably delirious, but she would not disregard such words, words that shot a bolt of fear through her very heart.

Asgard was not a safe place, no matter what the truth was behind Ivan’s death. She had few whom she could trust after all. Loki’s invitation to depart was quickly becoming more inviting, but she could no forsake her promise, no matter what.

Natasha groaned, throwing the book to the floor and resting her head back onto the oaken desk. Never had she been so torn between decisions. She had two ways out of Asgard, with Loki or with Clint, yet she would choose neither, not until she was sure of Sigyn’s safety and Sif’s happiness. A short breath of laughter escaped her, since when had she become so selfless?

~X~

She had slept for a short amount of time, with her head resting on her arms where she sat at the desk, until the shouts in the courtyard could be heard, and she was brought back to consciousness. Natasha rubbed at her eyes and looked about the room wearily. The day prior seemed like a dream, a surreal blur, and she had to remind herself that Ivan was indeed gone, and his ‘murder’ yet to be proved. Her beliefs could well be nothing but speculation, brought on by grief and the feeling of insecurity in an unknown place. For even though she had lived in Asgard for some time, it was no doubt a foreign place to her.

She dressed and left her room to seek out her husband, he would be nervous for her whereabouts, as she had not seen him since the morning after their wedding night, when she had awkwardly curtsied and dashed from his presence. She would never be his happy wife, compliant and caring, she did not love him, and she could be sure that he did not love her, but he cared for her, and for him, that seemed enough.

A servant opened the door for her when she knocked, and smiled as she allowed Natasha entrance. The girl closed the door and hurriedly returned to her work, picking up trays and plates from Clint’s breakfast.

He sat at a small table beside a window, the morning sunlight beating down upon his features, and he squinted at a letter in his hands, seemingly unaware of her presence.

“Breakfasting without me?” Natasha asked, with a ghost of a smile.

Clint looked up, his expression softening from a frown into something more sympathetic as he beheld her. He set down the letter silently and stood, stepping towards her. “I had no clue where you were, I supposed you had taken your breakfast with Loki.”

“I am sorry.” She murmured, the sensation of guilt felt odd, and she looked down at the floor in shame.

“Don’t be.” Clint said, his tone soft. He hooked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head so he could meet her gaze. “I’m sorry about Ivan. It is not surprising that you would seek Loki’s comfort at a time like this.”

“When did you hear?”

“I was there, I carried you from his side and to the seat where you rested for some time.” Clint smiled at the look of realisation in Natasha’s eyes. “When I came back from speaking with Ivan’s men, you were gone. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” She smiled, though Clint did not look convinced, and she released a shaky sigh, the sadness returning to her. “What if it was not natural causes that killed him?”

Her voice wavered as she spoke, and tears began to prick at her eyes. Clint swept her up into an embrace, his arms locking around her tiny frame. It felt so reassuring, so safe, she wrapped her arms around him, pleased to finally have some feeling of security.

“I know you wish to avenge him, you’re angry, you have had something taken from you and that hurts. But no one is guilty in this situation.” He held her shoulders at arms length to look her in the eyes. His gaze was soft and comforting. “His death was natural.”

Natasha took in a long inhale; her eyes glazed with held back tears. She hated it. She hated the way her emotions were so unkempt, how she could hardly breathe she was so distressed. She hated the fact that there was no one to blame, no one to pay for Ivan’s demise. But she most of all hated the sympathetic look in Clint’s eye. Did she really come across so feebly? She pushed away from his grasp to walk past him, wiping at her eyes as she went and steadying her breath.

“I did not come here to cry like a child.” She muttered sullenly. “I came to inform you of Sigyn’s pregnancy.”

Clint frowned in bemusement, but a small smile crept his way across his lips. “This is what we needed.” He whispered. “An heir, a child to unite them. Loki and Sigyn shall be happy, and we may now leave for Midgard.”

“No.” Natasha cut him off sternly, and his frown returned. “I have promised to remain in Asgard for the length of Sigyn’s pregnancy.”

Clint groaned and fell back into his armchair, his hand rubbing at his eyes in the way they did when he was distressed. “You wish to stay longer?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you not understand the risk of keeping King Fury waiting for so long? How distrustful and unorganised we seem?” Clint ran his hands through his hair and released an angered sigh. “Word will most probably be spreading around Midgard, about Lord Barton, the man whose wife holds his balls in her hands.”

“Clint, please.”

“I have already read Fury’s letter of how impatient he is growing!” Clint picked up the parchment he had been reading, crushing it into a ball in his hands and throwing it to the hearth. “Do you mean to make me a complete cuckold?”

“No, Clint, let me explain…”

“No, you tell me the truth, is it Sigyn you wish to stay for, or Loki?” He stood, looming over her with a look of despair in his eyes, and it pained her, it pained her to see his trust in her begin to shatter.

“Sigyn.” Natasha replied slowly, keeping his gaze firmly. “I love Loki, but I know that he must stay here with his wife. I want to leave with you, truthfully, I do, but I made my promise and I intend to keep it.”

Clint sighed and moved away from her, he turned to the window, his back to Natasha as he spoke. “And I made a promise to Fury.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but I will not leave.”

“I shall write him, and inform him of our delay. I will not go to Midgard without you, so I shall stay as well.” He sighed again and bowed his head. With the sun pouring through the window and onto his frame, Natasha could only see his silhouette, and a sad sight it was.

“I am thankful.” Natasha breathed in reply, her shoulders feeling lighter with one problem out of the way. “I promise, when the pregnancy is over, we will leave together.”

“And I shall hold you to that promise.” He muttered, his back still facing her. He reached to the table beside him and picked up a large leather-bound tome. “Here.” He said quietly, turning to face her. “I wished to give you this last night, but I could not find you.”

Natasha took the book from his hands, inspecting it curiously. She looked up at her husband questioningly, and he smiled, stifling a laugh. “What is it?”

“It’s a book that records every birth and death in noble families of Asgard. It’s old and forgotten, rarely used, which is why it is now public record, but I thought you would like to write a eulogy for Ivan.” He smiled sadly, his hand covering hers where she held the book. “And I know you were curious about your own origins, perhaps you may discover a record of the Romanovs.”

“I… where did you find this?” Natasha stuttered, her mouth hanging open in surprise. Lord Barton never ceased to surprise her with his kindness. Even when she seemed to infuriate him with making him wait to leave, still he gave her gifts.

“I found it in the library, the very back, hidden away beneath a stack of old books about old Asgardian politics. Seemingly forgotten, until now.” Clint shrugged, still amused by her dumbstruck expression. “I thought you would like to do the honours, concerning Ivan.” 

“I was not aware that you knew where the library was.” Natasha gibed, beginning to flick through the pages where she stood.

Clint shifted on his feet awkwardly. “You would be surprised, I am actually a smart man.” He chuckled, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his breeches casually. “And a mere thank you will do.”

“Thank you.” Natasha smirked, and she reached in to embrace him with a kiss on the cheek. “I am grateful, truly. Now, I must think of something to write.”

She skewed her lips, obviously writing that ‘Ivan was murdered with a severely poisonous plant with no known motivation’ was out of the question, and ‘The king was probably to blame,’ well, that was even worse.

Clint smiled charmingly and turned back to his work. “Take your time, it is not like the book is exactly on high demand.”

~X~

Natasha and Clint walked into the gallery later that day, after they had sat together and talked. Natasha had decided that it was time for her to get to know her husband better, and though she had already known that he was good company, she knew it all the more now. There weren’t many in Asgard that would have offered her a strong drink so early in the morning.

They were welcomed by the sound of utter commotion and uproar. Queen Frigga sat in her golden silk upholstered armchair, her head resting lightly in one of her elegant hands. Jane sat on a couch by her side, she looked utterly lost, gazing at the marble floor with a placid expression. Amora was by her side, chattering with Freya as though some great gossip had overtaken the court.

Everyone of merit seemed to be present, even Loki stood at the far end of the gallery, deep in conversation with his father, who glared around the room with a grave look in his eye.

At the sight of Natasha looking lost in the gallery’s entrance, Frigga stood from her chair. She strode towards her, without her usual calm and ethereal façade, no, she had something serious on her mind.

“Natasha, child.” She greeted, her brow stern.

“Your grace.” Natasha curtsied, and Clint bowed beside her.

“Your grace.”

“What has happened?” Natasha inquired with confusion. Frigga looked at her, bemused, and with a slight tilt of her head she raised a brow.

“You know nothing?” The queen asked. “She told you nothing of this?”

“Who?”

“Lady Sif.” Frigga informed her, her expression growing sterner as the conversation continued. “It seems she and Thor have run away together.”

Queen Frigga thrust a piece of parchment into Natasha’s hands, her face falling into a look of utter despair. Natasha looked at the parchment, it was a letter, written in prince Thor’s hand. She looked back up, past the queen and to Loki, who glared at her from across the space. Of course he would be displeased with such a turn of events, he, who had been begging her to run away with him for weeks now. And now Thor had done what he could not, and that would not be a first in their relationship, for Loki had often divulged stories of living in the shadow of his great brother, the heir to the throne.

“What does it say?” Clint asked uncertainly from beside her.

She held up the letter and began to read it aloud, Frigga looked down at the floor sadly as she did so, presumably uncomfortable with hearing it again.

_“I cannot marry a woman whom I do not hold any affection for. I cannot condemn myself to a life of dissatisfaction with what I have, and desire for what I cannot. As such, I have come to the decision that I must leave Asgard, with my love by my side. I have no intention to ever return._

_Please send my regards to Lady Foster, who, though is a marvellous woman with an exquisite mind and beauty, I cannot love her the way I wish to. I wish her every happiness._

_Send regards to Loki, my brother, who now, in my stead, must suffer the burden of being heir to the throne of Asgard. I wish him every luck, and happiness with his wife Sigyn._

_And send my regards to my mother, Queen Frigga, for whom I am truly, very sorry._

_Thor.”_

Natasha folded the letter back up slowly, her mind a whirl of emotion as she struggled to come up with something to say. She was angry. More than that, she felt betrayed. For there she was, wishing she could escape the confines of Asgard, but forcing herself to stay to make sure her friend could be happy, yet that very friend had left her with no words. Sif had gone, with no note to explain her departure, not apology, no comfort for Ivan’s death. Gone. Leaving nothing in her wake. Natasha almost wished she would indeed never return, for she could not imagine how she could ever face her again.

Though, at the same time she felt impressed, proud even, that Sif had the bravery to run away and find her happiness. In that, Natasha supposed, she had one less thing to worry about. If Sif was happy with her decision, then that was all that mattered, she just wished that her friends could have had a little more care.

“What will happen if they are discovered?” Natasha asked, looking up to see Odin walk to Frigga’s side.

“ _When_ they are discovered, they shall be punished accordingly.” Odin said coldly. Clint shifted uncomfortably beside her and gave a gruff exhale.

“And have they left no tracks, no way of finding them?” Clint asked, and Natasha found herself holding her breath.

If they were found, she could not imagine the punishment Sif would receive, no matter how loved she was by Frigga, Odin would be most severe, that was for sure. Whether she were to be branded a witch and put to death, or locked in a cell in the dungeons, Sif would suffer far more than Thor, the golden prince of Asgard. Natasha only wished that they had already made a safe distance between them and the golden city. Of course she wanted dearly to see her friend again, but if it meant seeing her before an impending execution, she would prefer to never see Sif again in her life.

“We have over half the city guard looking for them.” Odin replied. He eyed Natasha warily before placing his hand on Clint’s back and walking him away to speak further. Natasha managed to hear the end of the king’s sentence before they were too far away. “If we had discovered their absence sooner, we may have a better advantage. Are you sure your wife knows nothing of Lady Sif’s departure?”

Natasha swallowed thickly; there was something so sinister about the king’s presence. She had first felt it outside the ceremonial chambers on the morning of her wedding, though she had known nothing of the ‘enemies’ living within the walls back then. Now, however, she could not help the shiver that ran down her spine at the feeling of the old mans one good eye flickering about the room, searching faces for guilt, vulnerability. Was he the enemy Ivan had warned her of? Ivan may have died of age and not of sinister intent, but that did not discredit the suspicious traits that Odin seemed to emanate from his character.

“Your grace,” Natasha began, looking back at her queen. “I can assure you, I knew nothing of this. Sif told me naught.”

“I believe you.” Frigga replied earnestly. “If you could be so kind as to comfort Lady Jane, she must be feeling so uneasy.”

Natasha nodded and made her way to Jane, who sat on a couch by herself, now that Amora and Freya had left to gossip with the rest of Frigga’s ladies. Lady Jane Foster was remarkably well. She did not cry, as many had expected, she did not seem in the least bit angry, but instead she seemed understanding. She smiled as Natasha had gone to sit with her, no doubt grateful for the company, and admitted that she was indeed uncomfortable, but only that.

Natasha shook her head in disbelief as she watched Lady Lewis hurry to Jane’s side, only just having heard the news, and clasping Jane’s hands for comfort, though she did not seem to need it. It was difficult to understand how she could be so understanding, so kind, when her betrothed had left her in a foreign land, not so much by herself, but Thor’s actions had been indeed selfish. How Jane was not furious was impossible for Natasha to understand.

“It could have been us.” Natasha nearly jumped off her seat in surprise when she heard the low silky murmur from the seat behind hers. She did not turn to face Loki; she did not need Odin seeing that at a time like this.

“Have you not heard what Odin plans for them should they be caught?” Natasha hissed, tilting her head slightly so that he could hear her more clearly against the constant chatter of those around her. “Do you wish to see my head on a spike?”

“They will not be caught.” Loki sighed. “They have the advantage of distance, and Thor, the fool, is actually remarkably talented at keeping himself hidden.”

“You envy them.” Natasha breathed, shaking her head.

“Of course I do.” Loki’s voice sounded angered, he was jealous. Every thing he wanted Thor got first, even if what he wanted was freedom. “Now, with Thor gone, I am the heir.”

“Is that not a good thing? You shall be king someday.” There was a pause, and Natasha heard a shaky sigh from behind her.

“The throne would suit me ill. Thor has practised his entire life for the throne, I know nothing of ruling.”

“Really?” Natasha released an uneasy laugh. “After all those books you have read, you know nothing?”

“Reigning is different to what it seems on paper.” Loki replied stiffly.

“Then you can only really know what it is like until you are truly a king.” Natasha turned in her seat to see the back of Loki’s head, bowed, as he fiddled with his fingers. “Thor knows just as little as you. You were both born for the throne, and you could both be great kings.”

“After all this time,” Loki sighed, beginning to stand. “You still know nothing about me, Natasha.”

She watched as he walked away, his hands clenched into balls at his side, and his jaw tense. She had been foolish to think he could see this event as anything but dreadful. He had lost his brother and gained a heavy burden, Thor had dumped the responsibility on his brother without any thought, no regard to his feelings.

Natasha sighed, gave the queen one last reassuring smile, and returned to her room. She needed to escape the thoughts that whirled around in her head. The pictures of Sif being dragged to execution, how that could be her if she had agreed to leave with Loki. She had to have faith that they would outrun the guards, that they would find happiness in some place far away from Asgard, where they would never have to live in secret, never have to keep looking over their shoulders, anticipating the worst.

Of course, it all sounded possible… in theory.

~X~

Her chamber was cold and dark when she returned, the servants having not made a fire, nor pulled the curtains, after all the palace had been far too busy and restless for such tasks, and of course the servants must have expected her to be retiring to Clint’s chambers from now on. She would correct them when the place had settled down somewhat.

Her books were strewn across her desk, lying open and pages turning haphazardly in the breeze that came from the cold, unlit hearth. Natasha picked up the book of herbs and ripped the page of Noctis Mortis from the bindings, scrunching it up and throwing it to the hearth to be set alight later. She wanted no more of such conspiracies. She needed proof, not belief. Odin may be innocent from one crime, but it did not atone him from being an ass.

Beneath the piles of books and papers, she recovered the book that Barton had gifted to her. It’s crimson leather bindings and aged paper caught her attention, and she picked it up, smiling softly as she found her own family’s name. Her fingers brushed over her family tree, and she laughed at the history of fiery hair her family had.

She flicked further through the pages, finding Sif and her brother Heimdall’s name, written on the day of their births. This book was old, so old that it held the names of six generations past, each written on the days of their births. Indeed, the pages were frail, and she turned each leaf with care not to break them.

Then she found the house of Odin. She saw King Borr and his Queen Bestla, the reigning monarch before King Odin and Queen Frigga and she saw Prince Thor, but she did not see Loki. Surely he would have been written in. Natasha was written into the books history, and she was years younger than he, so the book could not have been forgotten -as Clint had said- at the time of his birth.

She flicked through the pages, intent on finding his name, but she could not find him, it was as though he did not exist.

_The enemy lives within the walls._

_Find the secret, then burn the books._

She returned to the page of House Odin, making sure she had not missed anything. Her finger tapped furiously over Odin’s name.

“King Odin.” She murmured, her eyes narrowing at the page. “What are you hiding?”

 


	17. This Burden Came To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are the Jotun's like up close?"
> 
> “They are a savages, monsters, a disgusting race, you ought not to waste your thoughts on them.” Loki answered, he sounded angered, bitter, as though unhappy to have his relaxation disturbed by thought of a hated race. “And really, I ought to take these books from you. What do you mean, reading such things?”

Months had passed, and Natasha was no closer to an answer. Sigyn was far along in her pregnancy, and as more time went by, Natasha found herself with less time to look into the mystery of Loki’s birth.

Perhaps Odin had disapproved of him as a child, and refused to write in his record of birth out of spite, though that was anything but the case now. Since Thor’s disappearance, Loki had become the golden child, married, with an heir on the way, attending each council meeting and taking time to study old monarchs and laws, he was the picture of a perfect king. Thor had not been forgotten, however, each day riders returned from an unsuccessful day of searching, and Odin had eyes watching all across the land of Yggdrasil. But it had been long since they had departed, and Odin must have known that any chance of finding them was slim, seeing as now his attention was solely focused now on Loki.

An idea had briefly sprung into Natasha’s mind, regarding Loki’s birth; that perhaps Loki had been a bastard, and therefore, not seen fit to include in such important documents. Yet, if that were the case, then why would Frigga favour him so? And why would Odin have raised him as a trueborn son of his? There was something deeper, or maybe nothing at all, nevertheless, Natasha was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“You do not mind staying for the length of my pregnancy, do you?” Sigyn asked one evening, as they sat in her private parlour, her belly large and rounded, the birth growing closer with each day. Sigyn glanced at Natasha over her point work, her brow raised as Natasha poured over old books, though she would not tell Sigyn that she was looking into Loki’s birth, it would raise unwanted questions.

“Not at all, my lady.” Natasha replied, not looking away from her book, only having half listened to Sigyn’s inquiry.

“And Lord Barton? Is he happy with this situation?” Sigyn pried, releasing a sigh when Natasha did not immediately reply. “Honestly, Natasha. What is it that you do with those dusty old tomes? I’m sure that one day we shall not know where you have gone, and it will turn out that you were crushed beneath all of your beloved books. Does Barton feel quite jealous of them?” The princess smirked and giggled to herself as she returned to her work.

Natasha sighed and finally looked up from the pages before her, she had grown quite tired of Sigyn’s demanding nature, and it had only grown worse as her pregnancy ensued. “I am sorry, what was your question?”

“Is Lord Barton happy with his situation?” Sigyn replied with a sigh, unhappy with having to repeat herself.

“Yes.” Natasha replied with a shrug. “He has no reason not to be, I suppose. The extended stay has provided him with a trusted position at court, which I am sure shall benefit him in Midgard.”

“Well, I am thankful that he has allowed you to stay.” Sigyn smiled happily as her dainty fingers worked on her sewing. “I do not know what I would do without you. Eir has been very helpful, for sure, but she is dreadfully boring at times, and only really talks about her passion for herbal healing.” Sigyn groaned as if reliving the conversations.

“Whatever the case, you should be thankful for her remedies.” Natasha replied, returning to her studies. “For they have helped greatly with the sickness.”

“How much longer until the birth?”

“I heard Eir say another two months.” Natasha looked up at Sigyn, her eyes pausing at her large belly. “Although you look as though you’re about to burst.”

“It is most uncomfortable.” Sigyn moaned, and Natasha smiled to herself, despite wishing she could have some peace and quiet. “Was Loki happy when you told him?”

“Told him what?”

“About our child.” Sigyn looked at her expectantly, the corners of her lips pulled back slightly in an elegant smile. Natasha’s heart dropped. Loki had been far from happy.

“He was shocked, to say the least.” She supposed it was the truth, enough to sate Sigyn, and to avoid disappointment.

“He will make an excellent father.” Sigyn grinned, gazing out of the window like a lovesick child. “And a great king. I hope it is a boy, that way we shall have an heir right from the start, though even if I do have a girl, I have many chances to produce an heir later.”

Natasha held back another sigh, Sigyn was rambling again, imagining a life that she would not have. Although, for all Natasha knew, Loki _could_ make a good father, she just could not picture it. He had a cold exterior, especially of late, and the idea of a child warming his heart was indeed a strange one. But his new position had not deterred him from chasing her, indeed, each night she shared his bed, despite their constant arguing, their passion was difficult to be rid of.

There was little that they could agree on nowadays, Loki refused to think about her leaving, and refused to talk about Sigyn with her, and _she_ refused to run away with him. He still pursued the idea, yet Natasha would hear nothing of it. Loki had too much responsibility, and she felt awful for him for that, but she would not allow him to leave so much just so he could be with her. She was not as special as what he had in Asgard, he just didn’t realise that yet.

As if on cue, Loki entered the parlour with a small leather-bound book under his arm, his brow stern as he observed the two women sitting together, his wife and his mistress, thick as thieves. “Ladies.” He nodded at them, setting down the book on a small side table.

Sigyn reached for him lovingly, but he moved away towards a table stocked with bottles of wine, and poured himself a glass. Sigyn returned to her work, albeit sheepishly, and Natasha watched Loki curiously, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched, how his knuckles whitened under his grasp of his goblet.

“Is it not wonderful having Lady Romanoff around to help?” Sigyn asked as she stretched languidly on her chaise longue, which she had been practically stuck to of late. Natasha looked at the princess and back to Loki, who turned to face them. “I think I would be quite lost without her, my love.”

“Indeed.” Loki agreed, his tone bored, yet from behind his wife, he eyed Natasha longingly, and she hated it. She hated being the source of comfort for both of them, as if they could not stand each other without her.

“I think I should go.” Natasha murmured, picking up her books and standing from her seat. A look of worry flashed across Sigyn’s face, and she struggled to sit upright as Natasha stood.

“Do not leave on my account.” Loki protested, and Natasha hated the way he looked at her, as if she could save him from anything. She was no hero.

“Where are you going?” Sigyn asked, resting her elbow on the arm of her chair and looking up at Natasha expectantly.

“To fetch herbs for Eir, she mentioned that she was low and I offered to find some for her.” Loki’s jaw tensed again as she spoke, he could tell she was lying. Sigyn, however, seemed convinced.

She curtsied and left before either of them could protest, the situation having been far too awkward for her liking. She could handle them separately, but together, with everything happening between them all, it was too unsettling. How Sigyn could look Natasha in the eye, knowing what she did with Loki each night, it truly bewildered her.

~X~

Lord Tyr’s door was unlocked, and without bothering to wait, her arms feeling heavy beneath the weight of her hefty books, Natasha walked into his chambers, unabashed. His main parlour was empty, and for a short moment, Natasha felt dread at the thought that Tyr may have company in his sleeping quarters, but the dread dissipated when she listened carefully and heard the slight scratching of a quill on parchment in his study. She strolled into his study, much to Lord Tyr’s surprise, and dumped her heavy load of books onto his desk, atop his work. He leapt back in surprise, staring up at her, wide eyed and bemused by her brazenness.

“What are you doing, girl?” He demanded, his face growing red in irritation.

“I’ve had it.” She spat, crossing her arms defiantly. “What is Odin’s secret? Why have I been ordered to do this?”

“You know why we cannot tell you.” Tyr muttered, attempting to push away some of her books from his desk.

“No, I won’t stand for this, I deserve to know.” She retorted, leaning forwards to place her hands on her books, keeping them in place, much to Tyr’s chagrin. She lowered her voice to a whisper and gazed up at him from beneath her brow. “Is Loki not Odin’s son?”

“What are you talking about?” Tyr stepped back, his expression one of fear, and Natasha already knew that she had been correct in her assumptions.

“This.” Natasha replied, throwing the book of births and death records towards Lord Tyr, who caught it haphazardly. “Loki’s birth is absent. Why? Is he a bastard?”

“Loki was born to be a king.” Came Tyr’s ambiguous reply, and Natasha snorted, not having it.

“King of what lands?” She pressed, noting the miniscule beads of sweat that began to form of Tyr’s brow. For such a stern man, he was easily manipulated.

“Jotunheim.” Tyr breathed, the name of the icy realm escaping his lips like a curse. At the sound of it Natasha’s blood ran cold. It did not make sense, Jotunheim, of all places.

“No.” She whispered, stepping back in shock. Tyr squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, he had told her the secret, the one thing he had to keep hidden, and he had given it away under pressure. Not even much pressure at all.

“You must not tell him.” Tyr said sternly, regaining some of his sharp character. “You must not tell anyone, else my head will be on a spike, and yours too.”

“Can you really expect me to lie to him?” Natasha asked, distraught. She leant forward, her expression grave as she rested the palms of her hands on Tyr’s desk. “When Sigyn has had her child, I am leaving. I cannot stay here, especially not now, I cannot keep this from him. I cannot tell him anything if I am not here to do so, therefore, for the safety of the realm, I _must_ go.”

“Odin will not allow you to leave.” Tyr muttered, running a hand through his greasy locks. “He wants to use you as a distraction for his son. It is worse now that Loki is heir to the throne. If ever Loki puts a toe out of line, Odin will have you there to put him in place, he knows of the power that you hold over the prince.”

“I don’t give a damn about what Odin wants!” Natasha shouted, prompting Tyr’s eyes to widen as he tried to get her to quieten her voice. Natasha sighed and lowered her voice. “He’s been lying to Loki for the entirety of his life, keeping him under the delusion that he can be king, that he is of noble birth. Odin doesn’t deserve my help, the bastard doesn’t deserve a single thought.”

“I told you, Loki was born to be a king. He is of noble birth.” Tyr sighed, sinking back into his chair. Natasha stared at him, her brows drawn together; Tyr rolled his eyes and began his explanation. “The Jotuns and Asgardians have been at each others throats for years now. It all began with the Great War that sparked the legends of ‘Odin the powerful.’

“I fought by our kings side in that battle, I watched as the Jotuns fell, and Odin pried a Jotun runt from the arms of it’s dead, bitch mother. That child was Loki, and his mother was wife to Laufey, king of the Jotuns.”

“Why did he take him?” Natasha asked, her expression placid, though her mind felt like a storm. “As some sort of trophy?”

“Maybe. Maybe it was in order to give an innocent child a better life. I do not know.” Tyr leant back on his chair with a puff of anguish. He reached into one of his draws and procured a small notebook, bound in brown leather. “Read this, it was Odin’s notebook during the war, in which he wrote about Loki”

“You have not read it yourself?” Natasha asked as she took the book from Tyr’s hands.

“I have skimmed over it once or twice.” He replied, waving his hand dismissively. “I never thought it had much importance. But you seem to be good with deductions, perhaps you can find something about _why_ Odin took him, if you are really so determined to find out.”

“I will, thank you.” Natasha smiled and bowed her head respectfully, but Tyr merely sighed, his frown deepening.

“Why did you have to keep digging?” He questioned, looking up at her, his tired eyes and downturned lips causing her to understand his stress. Of course, working behind Odin and all of the kings problems would take a lot out of a man, it did so with Ivan. “You could have remained ignorant, and avoided all of this mess.”

“You really expected me to have done Odin’s dirty work, without knowing why?”

“Just leave, Natasha, and try not to make this predicament worse than it already is.” Natasha curtsied, her head bowed in guilt, and when she looked up, Tyr had sunk further into his chair, his and covering half his face in worry. Her stomach sank as she began to realise what she had learnt, she could never tell another soul, not even Clint.

Her eyes widened. _Clint_.

“Does Lord Barton know?” She asked quietly, unwilling to press the matter further, but she felt she had to know.

“Know what?”

“About Loki.”

At this, Tyr looked her in the eye, fixing her with a steely glare. “He knew the entire time, why else would he have offered you marriage, if not for the safety of the realm?” His gaze turned curious and he shifted in his seat. “Why do you ask this?”

“Clint… gave me the book.” She whispered, nodding towards the red leather-bound book of records.

“He was trying to tell you.” Tyr breathed, staring at the book in front of him, the realisation of the matter painted clearly on his expression. “But he was sworn to silence.”

“You will not hurt him for this, will you?” Natasha asked, worry flooding through her system. Tyr’s gaze flitted up to meet Natasha’s his eyes narrowing as he leant towards her.

“This is a very serious matter, Lady Romanov. I suggest you leave Asgard as soon as you can. I will not tell if you do not.” Natasha bowed her head again and hastily made her way to leave Tyr’s chambers.

Only the gods knew what would happen in Loki found out about his heritage, and only the gods knew what would happen if Odin discovered it was Clint’s influence that lead Natasha to the discovery of Loki’s true parents.

As soon as the baby was born out of Sigyn’s womb, she and Clint would have to disappear, leave for their new life in Midgard. Asgard was no longer safe for them, although, she supposed it never was.

~X~

These days it was rare that Natasha would see Loki smile, only when they were alone together would he leave his icy façade behind and greet her with his wide, endearing smile that crinkled the sides of his eyes, and never failed to make her return the gesture.

In public, with others around them, he would act as he had upon their first meetings; cold and distant. She did not mind so much, as she supposed it was his own way of avoiding Odin’s suspicion, as he still had no clue that his father was the reason she was in his bed. But even in each others company, Loki could not hide his sadness, no matter how wide his smile was upon their greeting, it never reached his eyes. He would fall into a dark, brooding silence after each coupling, and lay beside her staring up at the canopy with a glazed look in his eye.

That evening, as she lay beside Loki, his arms wrapped around her from behind- she could hardly look him in the eye- a fire crackled in the hearth. Natasha pulled the furs over her naked form with a shiver, unable to feel the warmth of the fire, or the prince behind her.

Loki, who was in a good mood that evening, after Natasha had allowed him to be on top, glided his fingertips over the gooseflesh that erupted on her skin from the coldness, and kissed and hummed against her neck, still elated from their last coupling. As usual, he was all to desperate to have her share his bed, to feel the closeness against her. But this time, for Natasha, it was different.

She lay in silence, her eyes fixed on the stone wall in front of her, though she thought of very little, did very little and Loki didn’t seem to notice. Too satisfied was he from their intimacy to care. He muttered ‘I love you’s and purred in her ear just how beautiful she was in a lazy, tired voice. Natasha would grimace at his words, thinking, ‘If only you knew.’ But she said nothing, and replied to his sentiments with a gentle squeeze of his hand to show that she had acknowledged his words.

Jotun. Loki was a Jotun. The savage monsters the children in her old village had been so afraid of. Of course, they were not _monsters_ , monsters did not exist, Ivan had told her that much, but they were a mysterious race. She knew little of them; all that Natasha could discern from liable rumours was that they lived very differently to those in the other realms of Yygdrasil. They disagreed with the western values of life, and often that lead to conflict. There had always been animosity between Jotunheim and the western realms, and a great many wars that Asgard had fought against them in. Loki had faught in one of them, killed his own people, pillaged his own lands, without a clue, and Odin had let him.

Natasha licked her lips and finally decided to break her silence. “Loki?” Her voice cracked and sounded timid. She cursed herself for sounding so, Loki would pick up on that.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, the satisfied and lazy expressions in his voice now gone, now replaced by concern, as if he had already picked up on her silence, and her cracked, timid voice was the last straw in his apathy. Natasha still couldn’t bring herself to turn around and face him, so she remained still in his arms.

“Nothing.” She replied quickly, perhaps too quickly, but she cleared her throat so not to sound to shy. “I was just thinking about that evening you returned from the war.”

“Yes.” Loki laughed breathily, his thumb affectionately rubbing circles against her hand. Natasha could feel his smile against her shoulder, and she too smiled a little, the memory was fond. “And I told you I was a gardener.”

“I don’t think I ever properly punished you for that.” She gibed, and Loki chuckled against her soft skin. It felt so comforting, so innocent, she almost wanted to relent and turn to kiss him, to look him in the eyes and confess just how dearly she loved him, but she couldn’t. “Well, Anyway, it got me thinking about a book that I read, about Jotunheim.”

Loki sighed behind her and squeezed her tighter against him, nuzzling his nose into the nape of her neck. “Why you bother with such ponderous tomes, I will never understand. I am sure I’ve read such a book in my classes with Thor many a year ago, and I promised myself never to look upon it again.”

“Well, I found it interesting.” Natasha countered, her tone a little more serious. Loki was tired, playful, he didn’t wish to delve into such matters as Jotunheim and politics. “And I wanted to ask, seeing as I have only _read_ about them, what are the Jotuns like up close?”

Her stomach clenched as she awaited his reply, his own poor opinion of his own race.

“They are a savages, monsters, a disgusting race, you ought not to waste your thoughts on them.” Loki answered, he sounded angered, bitter, as though unhappy to have his relaxation disturbed by thought of a hated race. “And really, I ought to take these books from you. What do you mean, reading such things?”

“I sought to learn.” Natasha shrugged. “I only ever heard horror stories from the children in my village, Ivan never told me such things, so I wished for fact.”

“The horrors are fact.” Loki muttered. “They break everything they touch, everything they claim to love dies, and they live in a cold wasteland, icy and forgotten. There is a reason we do not trade with them, they will not listen to reason, and want for everything and give nothing in return.”

“But perhaps it is just their way?” Natasha argued, she could not have him speak so cruelly of himself, even if he did not know it. “They must think us westerners strange and monstrous, in our golden homes, our heated climate.”

“They are selfish, they think on us as little as we should them.” Loki sighed and rested his forehead on her bare shoulder. “Get some sleep, Natasha. I cannot bear to think on them one more moment. The war is over and I shall hopefully never encounter another on of those beasts in my lifetime.”

~X~

“I do not resent her.” Lady Jane Foster licker her lips pensively, her eyes gazed over the rolling hills that lay past the golden city, so small beneath them from where they sat on the hillside. They had taken up space beneath an old willow tree that’s leaves swept the ground and fell into a small idyllic pond, adorned with reeds and lily pads. Natasha lay beside it, the fingers of her left hand brushing against the cool water as she frowned over Jane’s words.

Jane, who sat to Natasha’s right, leant back on her palms, her legs crossed at the ankles, tilted her head back to catch the sun on her face. Ofttimes the lady had remarked at the beauty of the Asgardian sunlight, and Natasha could not disagree. They both understood that when sun hit the cold, grey stone in Midgard, it did not shimmer quite like it did against Asgard’s golden walls.

Natasha did wonder at the looks she would receive upon returning to Midgard. For in such a cold and stormy place, ladies kept a fair complexion, to have otherwise was considered a sign of lower class. This had never deterred Natasha in her youth, and on summer days she was all to happy to lay about all day in the sun, climb tree’s with Alexei until her arms ached and sweat fell from her brow. However, she was to be at court, amongst the king and his noblemen, things would be different.

“She ran away with your betrothed.” Natasha pointed out, still truly bewildered by how forgiving Jane was about the entire situation.

“I always knew that Thor viewed her as far more than the ‘friend’ he claimed her to be. I never said anything, but I knew.”

“But did you never expect anything to come of it?” Natasha raised a brow at Jane’s apathetic shrug.

“What could I have done if I had?” The lady sighed and bit her lip. “I did my best to be the adoring fiancée, and for some time I actually thought that he liked me, but their years of growing up together had ensured that Sif was already safely secured in his heart.”

Natasha frowned, had this been what Sigyn had felt like? Of course Natasha and Loki had not grown up beside one another, they did not have that specific bond that Thor and Sif seemed to share, but it seemed as though Sigyn had been ill-fated from the very start. To know that you were never to be preferred over another, that someone had stolen something of yours before you even had it? Her jaw tensed as she thought it over, the rush of guilt almost too much to bear. How could she sit beside someone like Jane, and try to sympathise with her, when she was no better than Sif? The brunette giggled beside her, bringing her from her thoughts.

“It seems that you are more vexed over this plight than I.” She grinned, and Natasha managed a small smile. She supposed that Jane’s goodness was endearing, and perhaps one day Natasha would be as good as she. Perhaps.

“I promised Sif that I would stay in Asgard for as long as Lord Barton would allow, not only to stay behind my lady Sigyn, but to ensure that Sif would not be alone in my absence. Neither of us are exactly proficient when it comes to making friends, but she left without a word, after everything I did for her, I strained my marriage for her, and she disappears without a trace.” Natasha groaned at her anger finally coming to boil. Jane did not need to hear this, still, she lay down on the grass, resting her hands on her stomach as she gazed up at the clear blue sky, and she continued. “I feel… betrayed. I suppose that I am glad Sif finally found the bravery that comes when you confess your true feelings, but she told me nothing, and I used to tell her everything.”

Natasha sighed and chanced a glance at Jane, she was staring down at her sorrowfully, her dainty brows drawn together and creased with concern. “Oh, Natasha, I wish that I could find some words of comfort, but I fear they shall appear as folly, and do no good.”

“Do not trouble yourself.” Natasha sat up with a curt grunt of discomfort, and popped a berry past her lips. “I shall be in Midgard soon enough, and I shall have plenty more opportunities to have someone disappoint me.”

“No.” Jane countered; her brows were still drawn together, though she was smiling smugly. “You shan’t. When Odin finally gives up hope on finding his eldest son, I shall be able to return to Midgard, and I shall keep you in my company, so much so, that you shall never find disappointment in anything.”

Natasha couldn’t help the meek smile that curled at the corners of her lips. In the absence of Sif, she was glad to have Jane. Such a kind-hearted woman, she successfully managed to brighten any mood, and indeed, with the more she began to enjoy Jane’s company, the more she became vexed by her situation. Why, or how, Thor could have disregarded her was so bewildering.

Perhaps Loki had always been right about him, maybe Thor was as selfish and thoughtless as his brother had expressed him to be.

They headed back to the palace, and Jane rambled on about the beauty of the place, how the summer sun sparkled against the stained glass windows and looked like a dream compared to the dull greyness of Midgard. Natasha nodded silently in agreement, not used to the constant conversations that Jane brought with her everywhere she went, but appreciating them nonetheless, they kept her from her own thoughts, which was what Natasha appreciated the most.

~X~

Instead of walking back to the palace via the more secluded route, Natasha used to take, the two ladies walked along the main road, a wide gravel path that lead to the city gates. The decision to do so was conceived from the knowledge that hunters and soldiers were scouring the lands high and low for the eldest prince, and though they were guilty of nothing, the both of them thought it best to walk a safer route.

Such a choice proved to be rather beneficial to the ladies’ favour, for not only were they able to wonder through the city centre and explore the market town (a factor that had swayed their decision to walk such route) but as they were approaching the golden gates that towered above them and gleamed in the sunlight, and Natasha had to wonder how on earth they opened the things, they came across a long procession exciting the gates. Natasha spotted Lord Stark leading the party on his horse, followed closely by Lord Rogers and Lord Banner at his side. Hundreds of horsemen trailed after them, as well as numerous horse drawn carriages and wheelhouses, but as soon as Lord Stark sighted the two women walking along the path, he held up his leather gloved hand to halt his men. They did so, rather haphazardly, the wheelhouses trundled to a stop, out of sync with the carriages, and few seemed to knock into one another, men on their feet seemed to stop before the horsemen, and were clumsily knocked on the head by the foot of a passing rider. Stark tore his gaze away from Natasha and Jane long enough to glare at his followers for their indiscretion, before turning back with a complacent grin.

“We quite thought we had departed without a goodbye.” He called, dismounting from his steed, and Rogers and Banner quickly followed suit.

“You are leaving?” Natasha questioned, her voice raised slightly so to be heard. She and Jane promptly closed the distance between the two parties.

Natasha’s heart sunk at the thought of the palace being empty once again. Once she had wished for peace and quiet and a slow day so she and Sif could escape and explore the lands, nowadays she longed for the busy halls, and endless tasks to occupy her mind from Loki and the troubles that seemed to surround him.

“After Thor’s unannounced departure, my men and I have been under perpetual watch. I thought it best to take my leave, and take my men with me.”

The King of York was interrupted by a shrill voice calling from one of the wheelhouse behind him. An ornately decorated structure, finer than any of the rest, and larger by far. “Oh, Gods!” The familiar voice shouted, frustrated, and causing Natasha’s lips to curl in amusement. “Why have we stopped?”

Lady Pepper’s head appeared from the wheelhouse as she opened the door to peer outside. At the sight of Natasha and Jane standing in the middle of the road, clothes somewhat muddy and creased, her features softened and a relieved grin grew on her lips, she hurried to step out of her carriage, followed by Lady Maria, who looked about with curiosity before noticing them and smiling gleefully.

“I quite expected to never see you again!” Pepper laughed, joining the bizarre group in the middle of the road. “Unfortunately, given this turn of events concerning Thor, we thought it best to not trespass on King Odin’s hospitality any longer. And I am sure he feels the same, for we did not see him upon our departure, nor the prince, so I must think that they cannot bear to see us any longer, especially now he believes we had some doing in Thor’s disappearance.” Pepper fanned herself in a flustered manner before hastily turning to Jane. “Which we didn’t, I can promise you.”

“But, Lady Natasha, we hope to see you when you come to Midgard.” Maria smiled, changing the subject before Jane could retort. “York is but a days ride from there, and I am sure Lord Stark will be most hospitable to Lord Barton and yourself.”

The group all looked expectantly at Stark, who rolled his eyes and agreed that yes, they were most welcome at the palace of York. “York is most beautiful in the summer, my lady, it would be a shame for you to miss it.” He replied with a smile, much to the pleasure of Pepper, who all but squealed by his side. “But I am afraid that we must say goodbye for now. We have two months of riding between here and York, and we must make haste if I intend to return before the Summer Solstice, which I do, a king cannot miss such a celebration.”

“Then we shall not keep you.” Natasha smiled with a short curtsey. “Lady Pepper, I shall write you when I can and arrange this visit you propose.”

“Oh, do.” Pepper grinned, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, and then doing the same to Jane. “Until then, farewell.”

Jane and Natasha stood by the side of the road and watched as the women climbed back into their wheelhouse and their men back onto their horses, and the procession began to move again, red and gold banners fluttering in the warm breeze.

They returned to the palace by sundown, after spending hours wondering about the city centre. It seemed that, Natasha, after all her time in Asgard, had never found the time to really explore the place, and it indeed was worth doing so. The market towns, though dusty and ancient, were lively and vastly enjoyable. The two of them ventured deeper and deeper into he throngs townspeople, their status seemingly undetected, though that may have had something to do with the state of their clothes. Upon entering the palace they made their way to the gallery, and just as expected, without Starks men, the place was near empty. Quite and still as a grave, but there was something strange about the ambience, something was not right. The servant’s hurried to and fro, too hasty to stop for questioning, and leaving the two of them rather baffled by the state of the palace. Natasha parted from Jane and made her way to her chamber, quite ready to quit the day and fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but as she entered her room, she noticed something strange.

Her door had been left ajar, despite her being quite sure she had closed it, though she put it down to the maids. That belief quickly scattered, as she beheld the state of her desk, her books thrown about, pages torn out. Natasha darted forward, her nimble fingers searching out Odin’s journal, that Tyr had gifted her with only a day prior, but it was nowhere to be found.

Her worry was cut short as she heard her chamber door creak further open, and she looked behind her to the entrance to see two guards, heavily clad in glistening armour standing in her doorway. “Lady Natasha, the king desires your presence in the throne room.”

This was bad. Worse, it was awful. Natasha had never been called to Odin’s presence, so surely he had discovered of her knowing about Loki’s heritage. Gods, what if Odin had known about Clint’s subtle ways of telling her? The two o them would be put to death, or if Odin was feeling generous, left in a cell to rot instead.

Nevertheless, Natasha could not ignore an order from the king, and swallowing her fear in one thick gulp, she followed the guards out of her chamber, striding awkwardly behind them until she reached the doors to the throne room. They were opened slowly to reveal the king.

The new king.

He sat proudly, legs akimbo, Gungnir clasped tightly in one hand, and the other resting on his chin thoughtfully, there was something cold about his demeanour, the way his gaze flickered over her form almost… hatefully. Had so much changed in the day she had spent away from the castle? Had his opinion of her changed?

Her answer came in the form of words that passed Loki’s lips in a cold, monotone voice.

“Kneel before your king, Lady Romanov.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm just going to quickly say, I AM SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO WRITE THIS DAMN CHAPTER.
> 
> And hopefully the length of it will make up for the wait. Over a friggin' month, guys, I am so sorry. I don't even have a good excuse! Pure laziness I'm afraid. But, good news, I'm already working on the next chapter, and I should hopefully get it out soon. I won't make any promises, like I did last time, and look where we ended up, eh? But I promise to at least try, does that help?


	18. Tyrant. Monster. King.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki smirked and tapped the arm of his throne with his lithe fingers.  
> “You have been keeping secrets from me, my lady.” Loki murmured, his eyes narrowed in distrust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alrighty, so it hasn't been too long since i last updated. Improvement?
> 
> I have to give a warning for this chapter: Character death.
> 
> Yup, I'm channeling my inner George R. R. Martin, so if you liked this character, maybe you'll get some feels.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter was intended to be the penultimate, but actually, it's looking more like a 20 chapter fic, which is the longest fic I've written yet, so bear with me on this.
> 
> Enjoy, and please tell me your thoughts and feelings with a review, I'd love to know what you guys think! x

“Loki, what has happened?” Natasha inquired. She gazed up at her new king, features contorted in confusion as she beheld him.

He moved his hand from his chin and splayed his fingers over his armoured chest, tilting his head as he glared down at her. “I am your king now, Romanov, and you shall address me as such.” He moved back his head so to stare down his nose at her. “Kneel.”

Natasha hesitated, but thought better of defying him. Now he was in such a position of power, there was no knowing how he would abuse it. “My king.” She knelt, albeit clearly with reluctance, and repaid Loki’s cruelty with a spiteful glare. “What had happened in my absence? What has come of Odin?”

Loki smirked and tapped the arm of his throne with his lithe fingers. That gave him away. He endeavoured to give off a cool, stony façade, yet his fidgeting revealed what seemed like… nerves? By now Natasha had become rather fed up with his act, she desired to know what she had missed, but Loki drew out his pause with a deep exhale.

“You have been keeping secrets from me, my lady.” Loki murmured, his eyes narrowed in distrust.

“Loki, I don’t know –”

“I am your king!” He stood sharply, and even from his distance, Natasha could see how tightly he grasped at Gungnir. “Tell me, Natasha, how long have you known?”

“Known what?” Natasha stuttered, though she already had a good idea to what secret he was referring.

“Guards, give the lady and I some privacy.” Loki glanced at the guards and gestured impatiently towards the hall doors. They did as they were told, somewhat reluctantly however, seemingly uncomfortable with taking orders from someone who was not Odin, and not yet used to Loki’s new status. When they had finally disappeared behind the oak doors, Loki turned back to Natasha, his jaw tensing. “How long have you known of my true birth?”

“Barely two days, my king.” Her answer was blunt, but more than that, Natasha delivered it with such indifference that Loki’s eyes burned with fury. If he was going to treat her like dirt, then she could do the same, no matter his new status as king. She had more influence over him than any other, she knew that, as did he.

“And you did not think to tell me this?” There was the slightest hint of hurt in his voice that, had it not been for his previous cruel words, and general demeanour, almost made Natasha wish to step up the dais and embrace him, tell him she was sorry, she was wrong, but she knew that he was in no mood for sentimentality, and a large part of her told her to keep her distance from him.

“No.” She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I did not think it my place.”

“But you thought it Odin’s?” Loki’s lips curled back into a snarl. “The tyrant who kept this secret from me for my entire life? You thought he would risk revealing it to me?”

“Where _is_ Odin?” Natasha questioned angrily, watching in slight amusement at the way Loki’s teeth ground together as he battled to hold back his anger.

“Odin fell into a sleep this afternoon. He wakes to nothing, but he still breathes. Mother fears he shall never wake again. “Loki divulged, and the flash of glee in his eyes sent a jolt of fear down Natasha’s spine. He had gone mad, she was sure of it. He seemed completely apathetic to Odin’s health, only seemingly proud of it all. “But none of this happened before he had a chance to tell me everything, to use the truth as a weapon against me. Do you know what was the most painful confession was?” Loki smirked at the look of fear in Natasha’s eyes. “That the only reason you ever humoured me with your attention, the only reason you ever crawled into my bed, was to distract me from discovering this secret you all failed to keep from me. So I know that you are lying, you have known of my heritage from the very beginning. Was this why you came to Asgard in the first place?”

“No, Loki, that is not true.” Natasha took a step forward, but Loki halted her with his hand.

“Do not come near me, whore.” He spat. “You knew that this would come to pass eventually. You left those dusty tomes on your desk in the hopes that I would find them, you wanted to hurt me.”

Loki procured Odin’s journal from beside his throne and threw it to her feet, regarding her fiercely.

“And are you hurt?” Natasha asked sourly, she would not be called a whore, especially not by Loki. She glanced up at him from beneath her furrowed brows, and noticed the scowl that darkened his features. “You would let those facts break you? Make you start acting like a –”

“Like a what?”

“A monster.”

“A monster?” Loki repeated and allowed a malicious grin to stretch his lips, and a dark, pitiless laugh reverberated against the embellished walls. “Perhaps I am merely in touch with my Jotun heritage.”

“You do not have to be.” Natasha declared quietly. “You read Odin’s journal, you know as well as I do that he took you for the purpose of uniting Jotunheim and Asgard. You can prove that Jotuns can be good!”

“Odin took me as a pawn, and what good would it have done? Laufey would only see him as a man who stole from him, and me, he would only view me as a traitor, a prisoner of war.” A glimmer of sadness passed his eyes as he thought of such things, and it seemed to soften his features. “Jotuns are not ‘good’, and I am far from able to change that. _I_ am not good.”

“You used to be.” Natasha replied, her voice hatefully small and lame. “But time has only proved that you are no rough diamond, you conceal no affection or benevolence beneath your cold exterior. But you could change your ways if you tried. Do not be the monster that Asgardians expect for you to be.”

“Leave.” Loki spat, unwilling to hear another word. He glared at her in a way he never had before. “I no longer desire to look at you. Return to your doting husband and trouble me no more.”

“Then there is no hope for you at all.” Natasha shook her head, and with that, she turned to leave. She half expected him to call her back, apologise or beg for forgiveness for his horrid words, but she left with only silence filling the grandiose hall.

~X~

The rest of the week was agony. Natasha avoided Loki’s company perpetually, though being Sigyn’s handmaid made such a task exceedingly difficult. But Loki seemed to avoid Natasha just as much as she did him. In fact, he averted most company, and stole away to the library, not allowing any one else to enter. Gone were the days of grand feasts and celebrations, the palace was quiet, cold and eerily so. Therefore, a week had passed and Natasha had only encountered the new king but two times, and each of them terse, and as frosty as the other.

The first time she had encountered him had been when Natasha had brought Sigyn’s medicine by request of Eir, who still worked thoroughly to alleviate Sigyn’s discomfort. It seemed that everyone knew that an uncomfortable Sigyn meant for an impatient and acerbic Sigyn, and they were traits that every one agreed were best to keep at bay. She was not in her private parlour, where Natasha had gone in search of her, instead finding Loki, reclining on his red satin couch, legs splayed over the side, a goblet of wine in one hand resting on his chest, the other hand placed tiredly over his eyes.

At the sound of Natasha entrance, Loki looked up at her sleepily between his slender fingers. It was a sight that Natasha would have once found endearing, and would still if he had not instantly curled away in disgust, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tense. “Sigyn is not here.” He slurred, sluggishly turning his back to her.

“Where may I find her?” Natasha questioned softly.

“Her bedchamber, I would imagine so anyway.” He muttered, his back fully turned and he cradled his goblet close to his chest.

Natasha had understood that that had been an appropriate moment to depart. She wanted little of his company, but his state at that moment was so sensitive, so vulnerable, it was a far cry from that cold and malicious man she had encountered in the throne room, though still cold nonetheless.

That had been their first interaction since their dispute. Of course, they had argued many times in the past, but they would always resolve the matter shortly afterward with loving apologies and intimate touches, more often than not ending up in Loki’s bed, sprawled out together amongst the furs. But this was different, it was worse. Loki was hurting worse than ever before, drinking himself into a stupor each night, from what she had heard from Sigyn. There was no hope of a reunion between them, at least not for a long time, and it seemed very much as though their animosity would never be resolved.

Their second encounter was in the training grounds. After Sif’s flight, Fandrall had offered to spar with Natasha, as Volstagg and Hogunn watched from the sidelines, hooting and cheering whenever Natasha would knock Fandrall down.

“We feel the sting of Sif’s departure just as keenly as you, my lady.” Fandrall informed her between hits, pausing to grunt as Natasha swung at him. “Likewise with Thor. Gods know we’d rather see him on the throne, instead of his brother.”

With a grunt, Natasha swung her wooden training sword at the courtier, whacking at his bicep with a dull thud. “I have to believe that she is happy.” Natasha replied breathily.” “But her absence had indeed left quite a hole in my life.”

Fandrall looked about ready to reply, when he glanced past Natasha and his smirk dropped. He quickly dropped his sword to the ground and fell to one knee, bowing his head. Natasha turned to see Volstagg and Hogunn do the same.

Loki strode proudly into the grounds, followed closely by armed guards. “Don’t stop on my account.” Loki sneered, stepping closer. He gestured for the men to stand, shooting Natasha a curt glare. He looked between them expectantly, and Fandrall picked his sword back up, readying himself with an uncertain look in his eye.

Natasha, as uncertain as her partner, grasped her sword tightly and returned to sparring with him. It was difficult, with the knowledge that Loki watched, and with unkind eyes, too.

“I merely came to ask for your presence at a council meeting.” Loki divulged from beside them. His words caught Fandrall off guard, and in his distraction Natasha managed to knock him onto the dusty ground. Loki chuckled and bent down to meet Fandrall on the ground. “Letting the quim beat you in such a way? You are out of practice, my friend.”

“Not at all, my king.” Fandrall managed a laugh, though Natasha could sense its falseness. He groaned in pain as he stood, sending Natasha an understanding nod. “I was taken off guard by your statement. You wish for _us_ to attend a council meeting?”

“Of course.” Loki shrugged, dusting himself off as he stood. “I need advisers that I can trust. My fathers advisers are old, they’re forgetful and _deceitful_.” At this Loki glanced icily at Natasha.

“We shall be right there.” Fandrall assured the king with a tired bow of his head.

“No, no.” Loki shook his head. “I need you now.” With a flick of his fingers, he turned, and the three men followed. Natasha took a step to do the same, but Loki tuned sharply, glancing at the dirty floor and pointing a finger directly at her. “Not you. Remember, I need advisers that I can _trust_.”

Natasha hadn’t minded that too much. She did not care for droll council meetings, but Loki’s words had stung nonetheless.

The next time that Natasha encountered Loki was the one that Natasha wished to be the last, for it was the moment that she came to the conclusion that she never wished to lay eyes on him again. She had been asked to bring Sigyn her new gown; a beautiful powder blue silk number, embellished with pearl white lace and intricate embroidery. It had been a gift from her family back in Vanaheim, of course, it would not fit her just yet, but after the birth of her child, it would surely slip on with ease.

Upon approaching Sigyn’s chamber, Natasha’s ears pricked at the sound of raised voices coming from within.

“You tyrant!” The first voice was Sigyn’s, shrill yet powerful with palpable anger, though it did strike Natasha with concern for the princess. Eir had been adamant that Sigyn should steer away from stress, Natasha made to enter, to tell her lady to rest, but Sigyn spoke again, halting Natasha where she stood outside the room. “He is your family! How could you do such a thing?”

“It is my business, woman! I am king, and what I say goes.” Loki’s words were raspy with anger, but as Natasha heard his voice, her desire to enter, to intervene, quelled somewhat. Despite her promise to keep Sigyn safe and calm, Natasha did not wish to step into Loki’s little temper tantrum.

Loki’s current state made him unpredictable, his actions were difficult to control, but surely he would not lay a harsh finger on Sigyn. Of course, his promise of keeping her safe meant nothing now that he and Natasha were estranged, but he had certainly developed a small sort of affection towards his wife.

“Thor would be king if you would just bring him back, and you will not have such a heavy burden to make you so mad!” Sigyn cried. “Or is that why you refuse to? So you may rule Asgard instead! Have you grown too accustomed to your title of usurper?”

Natasha relented and entered the chamber, knowing that Sigyn’s words would only rile Loki up further. She feigned a look of surprise at Loki’s presence, and held up Sigyn’s gown innocently. “My lady.” She curtsied and chose not to bow to Loki, she didn’t think he deserved it. “Your dress has arrived.”

“Natasha, come and help me make Loki see reason. God’s know he’ll listen to you.” Sigyn tugged Natasha by the wrist to bring her into the fray. “Thor and Sif have been found, but Loki refuses to have them brought home.”

“Is that not good?” Natasha inquired in bemusement. “Should they not be allowed a chance at happiness?”

“His father lies on the brink of death, and he will not allow Thor back to see him!” Sigyn argued. Her arms flailed about as if they helped her prove her point.

“Thor _wishes_ to return?” Natasha asked as her brows drew together. She felt lost, why would Thor willingly come back? Had something transpired between he and Sif?

“He demands to return and see his father, and has promised to marry Jane and comply to Odin’s previous wishes, but only if Sif is spared.”

“Spared from what?” Natasha stilled, watching as Sigyn’s face softened and her eyes turned sympathetic. Loki bristled behind her, and she turned to face him boldly.

“Sif shall be brought back and punished accordingly.” Loki muttered, his eyes still refusing to meet hers. “Thor, after he turned his back on the realm, shall be granted no admission back to Asgard. He has brought this on himself.”

“Do you not see?” Sigyn cried, thrusting her arms to Loki, as if to present his tyranny to Natasha, though she already saw it clear as day. He could not allow his brother happiness. He had to separate Sif and he, just out of his own sick hatred. “See how he wrongs his own flesh and blood!”

“Why should you give a damn?” Loki hissed, striking Sigyn’s arms away from him in frustration. “If Thor returns he shall take your throne away from you, our son shall be heir to _nothing_!”

“At least Thor would be a kinder king than you!” Sigyn Sobbed, moving closer to Loki in a defiant manner. “Is this why you keep him away? Answer me! Would you be so cruel to your family, just so you can keep the throne?”

“Sigyn, _rest_.” Natasha intervened, taking her wrist to bring her back. “You must avoid such exertion.”

“Oh, I envy you, Natasha.” The blonde said in a wavering voice. “You married a kind man, he will take care of you and love you, but I was not so lucky.” Her eyes snapped back up to face Loki as she snarled her next words. “I was forced to marry a tyrant!”

At her words, something in Loki snapped. His face contorted in disgust and fury, and in one swift movement, he struck Sigyn on the cheek, causing her to stumble back and fall violently into a glass end table, smashing it to pieces beneath her pregnant body.

Natasha ran to Sigyn’s aid, and Loki stood above them, a quick flash of fear passed his features, but were replaced by another cold exterior as Natasha looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. “You’re a monster.” She spat, and all at once she recalled those long hours spent in Loki’s company, and she regretted them more than anything she had ever done.

“Natasha.” Sigyn’s voice came out shaky, and Natasha turned back to her, her eyes finding Sigyn’s hands, where they were holding her swollen belly, smothered in blood. “Help.”

“Loki, go and get Eir.” Natasha demanded, refusing to draw her gaze from Sigyn, who shook like a leaf in her arms. Loki stuttered and tried to protest, and Natasha’s patience waned. “Now, Loki. Go!”

After a slight moment of hesitation, Loki bolted from the room in search of the healers. Natasha threw one of Sigyn’s arms around her shoulder and brought her to stand. With some provoking, she managed to get Sigyn to walk, though limply, and with her free hand clutching her belly.

“The baby is coming.” Sigyn breathed a murmur, and a single tear trickled down her colourless cheek. Natasha lay her down onto her bed, by now, having seen the masses of blood staining her cream gown, she fought hard to suppress her worry. It would all be ok, wouldn’t it? Her breath hitched in her throat at the thought, and Sigyn’s eyes went wide in fear. “It is too early, isn’t it?”

“Hush.” Natasha soothed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Sigyn’s ear with a wavering hand. “Be calm, everything will be alright.”

“What has become of us?” Sigyn whispered, her eyes reddened and her cheeks blotchy. “What has taken over Loki?”

“I told you, rest. Do not think on it.” Natasha breathed a long sigh of relief when Eir came running into the chamber, a large basket of herbs and medicine in hand. Loki trailed behind, his lips set in a firm line as his eyes swept over the scene coldly.

Eir took to Sigyn’s side, her hands placed gently over her swollen belly. “She is going into labour. Natasha fetch me some of the towels that I brought.”

“No!” Sigyn cried in despair, scrunching up her features and hitting her head back onto her pillow. “No, you said that I had another month, you lied!”

“Lie back.” Eir ignored her protests and gently pushed the princess back onto her furs. Natasha brought her towels to the bed and a bowl of water with a cloth to dab on Sigyn’s brow. “Loki, you must wait outside.”

“I will not leave.” Loki snapped, not missing a beat. He almost sounded as though he cared for Sigyn’s well being.

“My king, you must!” Eir countered, readying Sigyn for the birth, she wailed, ignorant to the conversation. Eir rolled her eyes and turned back to Loki. “Then make yourself useful and fetch me Frigga and two other midwives, and then I must insist you stay outside for the birth.”

Once again Loki looked ready to protest, but thought better of it and did as he was told. Sigyn began to wail louder in pain. “I cannot do this.” She whimpered, repeating that same sentence over and over again, despite Natasha and Eir’s pleadings for her to hush. When the princess had finally fallen into a silent sobbing, occasionally releasing a low whimper, Eir called Natasha to speak with her while the midwives that Loki had brought attended Sigyn a best as they could.

“Is the blood normal?” Natasha couldn’t refrain from asking as soon as she and Eir met at the other side of the chamber. “It is like nothing I have ever studied before.”

“It is abnormal, yes.” Eir murmured sadly, so not to be overheard. The last thing they wanted was another thing for Sigyn to fret over. “The birth has come too soon, Sigyn is wounded, and I fear too weak.”

“What can be done then?”

“She must give birth to the baby, there is no question about that, but it must be done calmly, we must soothe her, otherwise she shall distress the baby, and they my not make it.” Eir looked earnestly into Natasha’s eyes, her own glistened with tears. “Make an infusion with chamomile for her, try and help her to relax, and she may just make it through this.”

Natasha did not question the uncertainty in Eir’s voice, she didn’t wish to, the thought of anything going wrong was too much to bear. She hurried to brew the infusion for Sigyn and delivered it to her bedside, tilting her head and letting the warm liquid pour past her lips. “Drink.” She whispered in the most soothing manner she could manage.

As she drank, Sigyn’s eyes flicked up to meet Natasha’s, and the look of fear in her blue eyes was enough to make Natasha’s stomach drop.

~X~

Frigga set a gentle hand over her son’s as the two of them sat outside Sigyn’s bedchamber. The warriors three had come to stand around their king for support, after being named his closest consorts, and as bitter as Tyr, Kvasir and Fitch were for their dismissal, they too had come to await the birth of the new prince or princess.

Word of the birth had flooded through the city like wildfire, and commoners huddled in the streets awaiting word of the child’s sex. Their chanting could be heard distantly in the quiet hall, and with each exclamation from the public, Loki’s jaw set harder in anxiety.

His mothers hand was a comforting touch, one he very much needed as Sigyn’s cries filled the halls, raising the hairs on the back of Loki’s neck. With each scream there was a protest, begging Eir to make the pain end, but it kept on going. His mind wondered back to the blood on Sigyn’s gown, the look of horror on Natasha’s face after he had pushed his wife. This was his doing, his fault, and with each cry, each scream of pain, the more Loki wished to run away from the palace and never look back.

And then it went silent.

The eight of them all stood sharply, staring at the hateful wooden door, the one partition obscuring his knowledge from what had just taken place. No one spoke and made a move, each person listening out for a babies cry, a woman’s laugh of joy, _something_ , but there was no sound.

Loki turned to look at his mother, who gazed at the door just as eagerly as he had done just moments ago. She turned her face to look at him, her expression serious. “This is not abnormal.” She reassured him quietly, having sensed his discomfort towards the unusual silence.

His ears pricked at the slight noise behind the door, and then a loud cry of a newborn baby filled his ears. Frigga’s lips stretched back into a grin, her eyes twinkled with tears. The door opened and he turned back to see Natasha emerge from the chamber slowly, a tiny baby awkwardly held close to her chest, swaddled in a white cotton shawl. The baby wailed so loudly it made Loki wish for it to be sent away. Natasha looked at him uncomfortably, looking far less pleased than Frigga had, but Loki put it down to her animosity towards him.

“Well?” Loki questioned the red head less than eagerly, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the baby’s cries.

“Sigyn is dead.” Natasha croaked, her eyes downcast as the clutched the child to her breast. Natasha’s hands clutched the shawl awkwardly, unsure of how to handle the thing. “She was too weak.”

“And the child?” Tyr asked after a moment of silence, as the other’s could not find themselves to ask the question themselves, too stunned to think on such things.

“Sigyn died with her daughter clutched to her chest, and a sweet smile on her face.” Eir announced softly, appearing in the doorway behind Natasha. She wiped blood from her hands with a rag, and the sight gave Natasha chills. “A daughter, you have a princess, my king.”

Loki’s gaze flicked from the girl in Natasha’s arms, his lips pressed together tightly. “So, she could not even provide me with an heir.”

The baby’s cries grew louder as it wiggled in Natasha’s arms, but she remained still, too preoccupied by her own disgust towards the man she once thought she loved. She watched Loki with disbelief, noticing the way Frigga seemed to deflate in disappointment behind him. The king tore his gaze from the baby girl and turned sharply on his heel to leave. Natasha was left with his child in her arms, watched by the saddened eyes of Loki’s subjects.

Frigga stepped forward with a forced smile and took the baby from Natasha’s shaking hands. Whether they were shaking from shock or shaking from sheer fury she did not know, all she knew was that she needed to be alone. She spun on her heel and marched from the hall, not thinking about where she was going, as long as she was as far away from Sigyn’s body as possible.

The halls were silent, save the distant cheering of the townspeople, ignorant to the happenings inside of the palace. Natasha fell into a large pillar, her legs giving way beneath her weight, suddenly feeling unusually weak. She crumbled to the ground, tears spilled from her eyes and down her pale cheeks, and she wiped them away furiously with the back of her hands. She wept there for some time, in the empty hall, with nothing but her own tainted thoughts. Two soldiers marched through the hall, they paused beside her briefly, recognising her as someone of high status, but they thought better of disturbing her, and walked on.

She could not rid her mind of the image of Sigyn, lying in her silken bed sheets, covered in blood, as she clutched her newborn baby to her unmoving chest. There had been a smile of pure contentment on her face, and Natasha remembered the way she had looked at her child with the sort of love that Natasha would never understand, but the light behind her eyes had died out, her smile stiffening as her last breaths left her body. The chamber had gone dead silent, each and every lady who had aided her stared in disbelief as their new queen had slipped through their fingers like water.

Asgard was cursed, Natasha was sure of it. It was a tainted, cruel land, where all good, bountiful things seemed to wither and die. She cursed Ivan for bringing her to such a place, her life had certainly been dull in Midgard, but she had never experienced pain like this. As she wept against the pillar, she cursed Ivan again, and she cursed Sif for leaving her in such a ghastly place. But she cursed Loki most of all, for being so heartless, so changed. It was understandable that Loki did not love Sigyn, but to have swept aside her death so easily, to have remained so bitter in the face of such dreadful news, Natasha swore she hardly new him. No longer was he that young, mischievous prince she had met in the herb garden by the lavender and chamomile. No. There was some deep hatred inside of him now, and it fed on his old self, slowly letting that young man fester away as his new version thrived. It was as though he was possessed, as though his discovery of his heritage had overtaken him and turned him monstrous.

 _What has become of us?_ She had whispered. _What has taken over Loki?_

~X~

Her head pounded from how hard she had cried, her cheeks were blotched and stiff from her drying tears, and she wandered aimlessly around the palace, almost as though in a trance. She had expelled all thoughts from her mind, they could only do harm, and now she had no clue where she was going, just as long as she kept her feet moving.

The cheering from the streets has dissipated, now everything was quiet, was still. The sun was beginning to set, and the palace had grown dark, lit only by a few torches. By the time Natasha returned to the chamber she shared with Clint, she could feel her tiredness overcoming her, and her feet dragged across the stone floor of their entrance room towards the bedchamber where she knew her husband would be.

He was sitting at the small rounded table by the window, looking out at the forest beyond the palace, as he usually did during thought. He looked rather in a daze himself, ignoring the piles of documents that sat in front of him as he stared through the glass contemplatively. At the sound of her entrance to the room, he jumped up from his seat and hurried to meet her.

“I have been trying to find you for hours.” He breathed in relief, and he placed his hands on her shoulders for comfort. It was just what she needed, after hours of skulking about the palace by herself, she needed contact with someone, she needed comfort.

Natasha leant into him, resting her head on his chest, and in return her wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her closer to him. “I am so sorry, Natasha.” He murmured against her hair, his own voice sounded weak and hushed. “Are you OK?”

She pulled away, still wrapped in his arms, but with enough room to wipe at her eyes with the backs of her hands, and sniffed. “We’re leaving.” She murmured decidedly. “Tonight.”


	19. Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If only you had waited until things had settled down a little, perhaps we would not be in this situation.”
> 
> “Claims the man who was always happy to depart at the soonest moment before any of this happened!” She sprung from her bed, bare skinned as she grabbed a long white tunic to cover herself. “Neither of us are saints in this situation, but we must forget all of this and plan our way out!”
> 
> “And so I asked you, how do you plan to get us out?” Clint’s voice was sharp, not his usual gruff, yet caring manner of speaking. She had pushed him too far, and she knew it.
> 
> “Follow my lead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews! I was planning to respond to all of them, but I got super caught up with things. I loved reading them, though, and I'm sorry the last chapter seemed to break a lot of you. I don't know why, but I have a habit of writing sad stories?!?! I've always had trouble writing happy endings and stuff, and that's why I abhor my happier fics, like SHIELD High, don't even talk to me about the awfulness of that fic.
> 
> Anyways, a reason why this has taken so long is because I got a little busy dealing with MY ACCEPTANCE LETTER TO DRAMA SCHOOL. I'm sorry I had to put this out there. I'm just super excited, and I think it counts as a valid excuse, don't ya think?
> 
> XXX~~~~DUB/CON WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER~~~~XXX

Clint took a step back, clearly bemused by her words. The first thing that she chose to say upon her entrance, after hours of absence and apparent distress, was that she wished to leave.

“Do not look at me as though I have gone mad, Clint.” Natasha snapped, her temper waning from just one look at her husband’s expression. “Call for a carriage, we must go immediately.”

“Natasha, sit and rest, you do not know what you say!” With a frown of concern, her husband turned and took a carafe of water from his desk and poured some into a goblet for her. “Drink some water.”

“I am not deranged.” She sighed exasperatedly, and waved away the offered cup with a lazy hand. “Asgard is tainted, it is no longer safe. I cannot stay another day lest I go mad!”

Clint slammed the goblet back onto the table, his temper rising and blooming redness into his cheeks.

“All of these months past, Tasha, all of these months of you pleading for us to stay…”

“And now I plead for us to leave.” She said calmly, if not a little disdainfully. Yes, she knew her decisions were fickle at times, this one had been worse. She had always felt guilty at forcing Clint to stay, and now she refused to spend another minute in the place. She wouldn’t blame the man if he left her one day and never came back. “Do you really want to stay to watch Loki turn this once bountiful land into something horrible?”

“I am just shocked.” Barton shrugged and shook his head as he set down the water and took a seat on their bed. “You wanted so badly to stay a little longer, for Sif, for Loki, Sigyn.”

“Yes, well now Sif has run away, Sigyn is dead, and Loki has lost his mind. You see how this land is poisonous?” She relaxed her arms, letting them hang by her sides as she stepped gingerly to where Barton sat, twiddling with his thumbs. Natasha took one of his hands in hers, trying her very best to be affectionate, though it did not come naturally to her, at least, not with him. “I see no more reason to stay.” She murmured, voice soft. He looked up at her, his face somewhat sympathetic, and she inwardly triumphed, as she knew she had won this. “Do you?”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight?” Natasha affirmed with a curt nod, holding her breath for his reply.

“I shall call a carriage then.” Clint rubbed his eyes exhaustedly, and it was clear he wanted nothing more than to retire to bed. It had been a long day for everyone, Natasha was exhausted also, but her need to escape the claws of such a place was greater, and far more important than her fatigue.

Clint did look dreadfully tired, however, purple hues beneath his eyes, his cheeks pale and colourless. Asgard really did drain the life out of its inhabitants. He had waited up for her, concerned for her. It made her feel strange, guilty, yet there was a part of her that was almost pleased to see that someone cared that much about her. Comforting, perhaps.

“I shall gather our belongings as you do so.” Natasha sprang into action, choosing to ignore Clint’s tired grunt as he sluggishly lifted himself from the bed. He could sleep in the carriage, for she was too determined not to stay another day. “And Clint,” She ejaculated, grabbing his arm to halt him.

Her husband turned slowly to face her, his brow furrowed. “Yes?”

“Be discreet.” She whispered. “Please?”

He nodded sleepily and left, leaving her standing in the middle of their cold and silent chamber for a moment. Her hands still shook as she let herself absorb the knowledge that she may never see Asgard again, and that seemed like a rather pleasing thought, until she remembered that beholding Loki’s smiles would forever be a thing of the past. Sif would most probably be shoved in a cell in the dungeons upon her return, and Frigga, her kindness, and her gentle words, well, they would become a mere distant memory.

But it was over. It was finally over.

~X~

As she shoved dresses and papers into bags, having not asked a servant for help, she needed discretion, Natasha was struck with a thought. She took a quick glance out of her window, beholding the moon, full and looming over the city. It’s pale beauty lighting up the courtyard, where she could see no carriages waiting. Clint had been gone for a while, but there was still time.

Natasha took one sweeping look over the room before she made her decision. She would have to be crafty, quick, if she did not wish to be discovered, and she really did not. What Loki would do if he discovered Natasha was leaving without a word, let alone what he would do if he found out about what she was planning, she did not know. He had been distant towards her those past weeks, barely uttering a full sentence in her direction, but perhaps he still cared for her, and perhaps he would not allow her to leave him.

She pursed her lips and came to her conclusion, stepping over the bags that lay scattered over the marble flooring, and rushing out the door. She stepped quickly through the halls, empty as they were from bereavement, she still did not wish to be seen, and found the chamber she had been looking for. She knocked on the wooden door, glancing around herself in case she was not alone, but all seemed clear.

“Natasha?” Lady Jane Foster’s questioning voice called Natasha back from her suspicions to face the woman standing in the doorway. “What brings you here so late?”

With a sigh of relief, Natasha stepped into her chamber, uninvited, but the matter was urgent, and she had no time for such formalities. “I am glad to find you whilst you are still awake.” Natasha breathed, and stopped in the centre of the room, turning back to face Jane, who closed the door behind her, looking all the more confused.

“What is it?”

“Lord Barton and I are leaving, tonight.” Natasha divulged, her heart straining at the look of sad understanding on Jane’s features.

“I am very sorry to see you go.” Jane whispered, much to Natasha’s satisfaction, it would only increase her anxiety if their words were not uttered quietly, lest someone be spying. She would not expect any less in Asgard.

“I came to ask you to come with us. Clint has gone to fetch a carriage, we go tonight back to Midgard. Come with us.” Natasha stepped forward and grasped Jane’s hands in hers, holding it tightly. “Leave this place.”

“It is a tempting invitation.” Jane murmured, bowing her head and pursing her lips, as if considering the proposal. She lifted her head back up to face Natasha and took in a shaky breath. “But it would not do for me to come.”

“How so?”

“I am betrothed to Thor, at least, I was. Even though he is gone, and Loki threatens to deny his access back here, I hold a responsibility, to represent Midgard, but also to be a sister to Loki, and therefore Sigyn.” She took back her hands from Natasha’s and smoothed back her hair, raising a piteous sigh. “I must attend her funeral, it would be wrong not to.”

“I understand.” Natasha nodded, and she looked past Jane, out of the window, where the moon was still shining, full in the sky. She could not bear to look at her friend, her own guilt flooding through her at the realisation that she had disregarded Sigyn’s burial in her haste to depart.

“Do not think that Sigyn still binds you to this place, Natasha.” Jane tucked a red curl behind Natasha’s ear as she whispered her comforting words. “She would have wanted you to fly, to leave while you can. She of all people knew the feeling of restriction that one may feel after staying here too long. In her last days she felt more imprisoned than ever, I am sure that she would want you to free yourself, if not her, then you.

“I am closely watched here. If someone were to see me leave with you, I could not bear the thought of you getting into trouble on my behalf, and accused to smuggling me out of Asgard, or some ridiculous impeachment of some sort. You go, it is what Sigyn would have wanted, and what I want.”

“Will I see you again?” Natasha questioned, holding onto Jane’s wrist where her hand still rested on her cheek.

“Of course.” Jane smiled up at her. “I shall be back in Midgard very soon, I am sure of it.”

“I will write to you.”

“I should hope so.” The lady grinned, enveloping Natasha in an embrace. She rested her chin on Jane’s shoulder for a moment, still watching as the clouds passed the silver moon. Her eye’s stung with fresh tears, and she cursed herself for being so soft at a moment that required her strength. She hid her face into Jane’s shoulder and squeezed her tighter.

She stepped to the door, presenting her friend with one last smile before she departed. “Jane?” She stopped halfway out of the chamber.

“Yes?”

“Lay a flower for me, will you? For Sigyn.”

“Of course.”

“Farewell, Lady Jane.” Natasha smiled sadly.

“Farewell, Lady Natasha.” Jane replied. “And good luck.” As she stood in the centre of her chamber, she watched Natasha go. Her eyes shone with sadness, and the feeling of some impending sorrow, as though some great, unknown darkness clouded above the city of Asgard, waiting to ruin the lives of those who inhabited it. Perhaps it already had.

~X~

All looked away as she walked passed them, parting like drapery pulled away from the window it decorates. On most days her subjects smiled, nodded and some even indulged in conversation with her, but not tonight. They were as grim as the weather was that afternoon. The halls became emptier as time passed, and Frigga walked with purpose, her lips set in a firm line as she strode towards the library.

Guards were set outside the wooden doors, and that was how she knew he was in there. She only needed to give one guard a sharp look before he relented and allowed her access. Loki may have been king in his fathers absence, but no one disobeyed the queen. No one was stupid enough to do so.

She found him in the back of the empty library, sunk into his armchair as though it were his throne. He hardly seemed to notice her presence, his hand over his brow and shielding a good portion of his face, so she could hardly see his expression towards her invading his space, though she guessed he was less than pleased.

“So.” He muttered, removing his hand from his brow to place on the arm of his chair, revealing his deep frown towards nothing in particular. “You found me.”

“Did you think it would be hard?” She questioned in reply, gesturing to the space around her.  It was only a small corner of the library, scattered and messy with books from Loki’s collection, but it had always been his favourite spot. She had taught him his history lessons there, while Odin sparred with Thor, she had always connected with him on a more intellectual level. Beneath piles of others, she could detect old study books, left there from years passed. The corner was a relic in itself, one that she would hold dear, as a memory of Loki’s childhood. Of course, as he grew up, he still did not abandon the space, the man read like no other, and she had heard rumours of him bringing women there, much to her dismay.

“I do not wish to see anyone.” He returned in a monotone voice. She could see dark circles beneath his eyes, his tiredness evident, and she wished he would rest, for she knew he had not done so for many days after Odin’s fall.

“Loki, do not shut people out, least of all your family.” At this he turned to her, looking upon her for the first time since he had received the dreaded news of Sigyn’s passing. His eyes seemed to burn with fury at her words, and with a horrid feeling dropping to her stomach, she seemed to realise why he looked upon her thus.

“You are not my family.” His words were cold, slowly formed and with a raspy edge that gave away the anger that he strived to contain. She knelt down beside him, resting her hand on his and shut her eyes, a single tear rolled down her cheek as she sighed so deeply is was as though all the air had escaped her.

“You know.”

“Of course I do.” He hissed, snatching his hand back from where she held it. “Did you really think I would never find out?”

“I begged your father to tell you.” She whispered, fighting back tears. She always hated it when Loki was cold towards her, but now he needed someone more than ever, but refused to let anyone in. She needed him to need _her_ , and she needed to know that he did not despise her for the secrets and the lies. “I told him this day would come.”

“Then why did you not tell me yourself?” He turned his head, ignoring how Frigga seemed to crumble in sadness beside him.

“We wanted to raise you as our son. We love you Loki, your father saved you from dying in the cold wasteland that is Jotunheim, and he took you in and made you a prince.”

“I was a prince before.” He murmured, inwardly he flinched at the idea of ruling over the savages in Jotunheim, of being one of them.

“You would have died.”

“Better to die in ignorance than to live in it.” Frigga stood sharply and turned away, unable to hear his words. He was so cruel to her, more than ever before. The past few weeks he had avoided her, and she had put it down to stress and uncertainty towards his throne, but now she knew.

“Don’t you dare.” She snapped, and with a deep breath she relaxed her shoulders and turned to face him. “Don’t you dare tell me you would rather have died as a child.”

Loki swallowed, looking up at her with uncertainty in his look. “You lied to me.”

Frigga softened her features and approached him again. “It was wrong, I know. But everything we did was for you. Your father loves you, he shows it badly, but he loves you.”

“He never shook the knowledge that I am not his.” Loki countered. “He never treated me as he treated Thor.”

“You and Thor are so different, Loki.” Frigga replied, almost laughing. It was almost petulant how Loki still mused over such trivial things. “Of course he would not treat you the same. Thor was built for battle, and you for intelligence. Both traits are strong factors in ruling a kingdom, and both traits your father holds himself. He is a wise king, and a strong king, if he were not, you would not be here to hate him.”

“Why did you come here?” He asked, apparently tired with Frigga’s topic of conversation. He looked up at her, evidently bored, and her mood turned sour again.

“In honesty, I came to beg you to look upon your daughter.” She took a seat in the chair across from him and leant forward in eagerness, trying to hold his attention. “Do you mourn her?”

“Who?”

“Your wife.” Frigga replied tensely.

“I never cared for her.” Was his curt reply, and once again Frigga deflated in energy, her disappointment towards her son only heightened as he spoke in such a cruel manner. “Why should I care for her now.”

“Do you not feel guilt?”

“I am guilty of nothing.”

Frigga shook her head and stood, having understood that Loki had become a wall of stone, it was incapable to break through to him, to reveal his true thoughts. Perhaps he really did not care, perhaps, with all the lies that he had endured, and all the painful truths, he had become incapable of caring for such things. She wished for her son to return, the young, raven haired boy, with his mischievous grin, and laughter that could fill a heart with euphoria, but he had gone.

“You knew, did you not?” He asked quietly, before Frigga could depart.

“Knew what?”

“About Natasha.” He looked up at her with an expression of hurt that made her heart ache to see. She nodded solemnly, guilt flooding through her every particle at the thought of how many truths Loki had discovered, and how broken he must be beneath his impenetrable façade of ice. He smirked, mirthlessly, and turned back to face the bookcases, his gaze distant, once again detached from world in his own thoughts.

He would not be visiting his child any time soon, he would scarcely leave the library, she predicted, and Asgard would fall beneath the weight of his grief and his suffering.

~X~

Loki could have laughed at the subtle looks of shock he received from the guards as he exited the library. He sent them each a curt look of anger, and that seemed to set them in their place, as they sharply turned their gaze away from him to look straight ahead, as they were supposed to do.

He continued walking through the halls, angered by his own weakness, and yielding to his thoughts and want for his bed. He had spent the day cooped up in his armchair, doing nothing but gaze at nothingness, alone with naught but his troubled thoughts. He knew he would go mad if let alone with them for too long, which was partially why he had decided to get up at leave. He needed air, fresh air, and food and jug after jug of Asgard’s strongest wine. He could not sulk forever, even he did not have the willpower to do so.

He refused to believe that he had shut himself away because of Sigyn’s death, or guilt that he may have had a part to play in her demise. He wanted peace and quiet, and he knew that if he stepped out into the hallways, he would hear that awful baby’s cry, or come across a weeping maid whom may have served his wife at some point or another. No. He needed his thoughts, and them alone. They may drive him mad, but they would keep him safe.

He walked swiftly through the empty halls, brightened only by the few torches that had been lit that evening. The palace had been slow after the birth, even from the confines of the library, he could tell. The place had been far too quiet for his liking.

The sound of whispered voices caught his attention, he was certain that a majority of the palace would be fast asleep, or at least grieving in silence. He hid behind a pillar, unwilling to cross paths with anyone at this point in time, and listened out for what they were saying.

“I can carry that for you.” A man whispered, his voice seemingly strained, as though he was using his strength too much.

“My lord, I told you, I am fine.” A woman replied. It was Natasha. He knew because he had head that voice, that whisper so many times in the past, he had grown to know every volume of her husky voice, from cries of ecstasy to cries of sadness. “Besides, you can hardly carry your own bag, I would not like to crush you beneath my belongings.”

There was a quiet snigger, and it set Loki over the edge. Having attempted to remain calm, to keep himself hidden in the shadows, he could no longer do it, and before he knew it he was striding out from behind the pillar behind which he had hidden, and standing bold as brass in the centre of the hall. In the little light that the torches allowed, Loki could see Natasha’s eyes widen as she spotted him standing before her. Lord Barton followed suit, dropping his bag to the floor and bowing for him, though Natasha did not do so herself.

“What are you doing?” He asked sharply, and stepped towards them so that he could see their expressions better. The slight glimmer of fret in Lord Barton’s eyes would have made him smile with glee if he were not in such a foul temper. He looked down at their bags, large and almost bursting with whatever they had in their, sitting at their feet. “Going somewhere?”

“We are leaving.” Natasha replied, staring him straight in the eye unabashedly, whilst he respected that, he resented it more that anything in the world. “For Midgard.”

“You have finally plucked up the courage then?” He smirked, there was no light behind his eyes however, no mirth like there used to be, and he knew that she could see that, that she must have pitied him.

“Your grace, we wish to leave, and we cannot allow our carriage to wait any longer.” Natasha said impatiently. Her gaze was challenging, watching him for any sign of emotion other than the hatred he bestowed upon the two of them.

He graced her with a laugh, cold and hollow. “I think not.” He sneered. “You are within the walls of Asgard, and I should like to keep it that way.”

“Your grace.” Barton intervened, but Loki held up his hand to silence him, not bothering to look his way, as he kept his gaze solely on Natasha.

“I am king, and with my orders, I can assure you that no carriage shall take you tonight, nor any night after that.”

“Why are you doing this?” Natasha whispered, all of her strength seemed to leave her, as though she were giving up entirely.

“Because I like to see you in anguish, Natasha.” Loki’s lips pulled back into a sickly sweet smile. “And if you leave for Midgard, I may never see such things again. You may not leave, and if I, or any other, catch you trying again, you shall both be thrown in the dungeons, to live out the rest of your days in starvation.” He looked at Barton, smiling at the look of horror on the mans face. “You may go, sir, and take these bags back to your chamber.”

Clint glared at Loki, but he did not ignore his orders. He picked up both bags, stifling a grunt of pain from the weight, and turned, giving Natasha one last saddened look before he left. “We should have gone while we had the chance.”

His words were full of sadness, Loki could see the way Natasha’s face tensed in guilt as he spoke, and watched him walk away. She turned back to Loki, her brow pulled into a scowl. “May I leave also, your grace?”

He leant into her, pressing his lips against the shell of her ear, and he could sense the way she shivered at the contact. “Come to my chambers tomorrow night.”

“No.” Her answer is almost immediate, as though she had anticipated it. Oh, she was a smart one. He grabbed her upper arms tightly, pinning her body flush against his.

“Wrong answer, Romanov.” He hissed, his breath hot against her skin. “Look at you, look how desperate you are to depart, to be far from my presence. Like a little bird, longing to spread its pathetic wings and fly.”

“And do you mean to cage me?’ She questioned, her eyes meeting his with a glint of coldness.

Loki stepped back, looking almost hurt at her insinuation. It did not take long for Natasha to realise, however, that her was mocking her. “Of course not.” He assured her in a false tone. “I mean to liberate you.” His lips twitched into a smirk as he dipped his head so that their foreheads touched. It made her sick. “Come to my chamber tomorrow night.”

“I shall not.” She spat, slipping from his grasp and moving away from him.

“I am your king.” He rasped, suddenly angry again, and in his fury he grasped her shoulders, pulling her close to him again. “And I will _fuck_ you as many times as I please, and you shall comply to my every wish without a second thought. Are we clear?”

She shifted from his grasp, a hurt look on her features, unlike any that he had ever seen. He almost felt bad. “We are clear.” She muttered quietly, her eyes downcast. “I shall see you tomorrow, my king.”

He watched her go, her head bowed and looking almost weak. Shy.

_‘Do not apologise for your confidence Natasha, it is one of your most admirable qualities, and I should be sad to see it repressed.’_

He had spoken those words to her, months passed, in the library, and now they hit him, rushing back into his memory like a gush of cold wind. Never had he considered that he would be the water to dowse the fire in Natasha, the blow that put out the flame.

~X~

The next day brought more dread, as all through the halls the ceaseless sound of a baby’s cry could be heard. A constant reminder of what had been lost the day prior.

Natasha woke late in the afternoon, curled up in the sheets of the bed that she shared with Clint. The sun shone through the open window, from which she could hear the distant sounds of carts being wheeled into the courtyard, and servants murmuring to one another. It was no longer the lively place that she had come to know, it would stay in a melancholy way for some time, and she would endure it, she would have to, now that she was forced to stay.

Barton sat reading by the window, and looked up at her as she sat up in her bed, sleepily rubbing at her eyes.

“What time of day is it?” She asked, still too tired to properly articulate her words. Clint’s lips twitched, amused by her constitution.

“Midday I should think.” He replied, chancing a glance out of the window. “I did not wish to wake you. I believed you needed your rest.” He paused, glancing down before he met his eyes with hers. “You returned here very late last night.”

“I think it was this morning, was it not?”

“Whatever the time,” He sighed and picked bindings of his book anxiously. “Why did Loki hold you back?”

“He merely wished to ask of Sigyn.” She lied fluently, not missing a beat. “How she passed. He did not trust what Eir had told him.”

“But he trusts you?” He raised a brow, and the question stung her slightly. “After everything?”

“He knows me.” She whispered. “Knows me better than a healer, and knows that I would never withhold information about Sigyn. He knows I loved her.”

“Yet you did not care to attend her burial.” Natasha frowned at his bitter choice of words, and the way he sat, scrutinising her from his seat, it made her uneasy.

“I did not realise.” She replied tersely, watching her husband sternly from beneath her brow. “I was in a state after her death, all I wished was to leave this place.”

“I told you, you should have rested on these thoughts. I knew you would change your mind.” He hid his face in his hands, exhaling deeply in exasperation.

“I have not changed my mind on anything!” Natasha shouted, clutching the sheets around her frame so tightly her knuckles turned pale. “I still wish to leave, no amount of reflection will ever change that.”

“And how do you suppose we do so?” Clint leant forward in his chair, his eyes narrowed in a mix of bewilderment and frustration. “Loki has made it certain that we shall never depart! If only you had waited until things had settled down a little, perhaps we would not be in this situation.”

“Claims the man who was always happy to depart at the soonest moment before any of this happened!” She sprung from her bed, bare skinned as she grabbed a long white tunic to cover herself. “Neither of us are saints in this situation, but we must forget all of this and plan our way out!”

“And so I asked you, how do you plan to get us out?” Clint’s voice was sharp, not his usual gruff, yet caring manner of speaking. She had pushed him too far, and she knew it.

“Follow my lead.” She returned quietly, slipping into a plain grey gown. “I know what I must do, but wait for me in the courtyard once the moon has fully made its ascent.”

She watched him nod in compliance, though she could detect suspicion in his eye. Natasha did not think on it, instead she left the chambers, leaving him with his thoughts as she left to begin her day.

She spent time in the gallery, sewing by herself as Freya and Amora murmured gossip together, though their behaviour was sullen, and they dipped their heads together sadly as they spoke. Jane entered with a look of curiosity, though, seeing the other two women present, chose not to address Natasha’s presence. Natasha shrugged as if to say she would explain if she could, but the explanation would not be pleasant. Lady Foster seemed to understand, and picked up her book, sinking back into the pillows on her couch.

That was how she spent a majority of her day, alone with her thoughts as she conjured up her courage for what she knew she needed to do that evening. As the sun began to hang low in the sky, and most ladies in waiting had departed for supper, Natasha departed to go elsewhere.

She wandered about the palace, following the distant cries of a newborn baby until she found the room she was looking for. She tapped gently on the door before making her entrance. Frigga was sat beside a grand four-poster bed, with gold fabric that draped around the frame, shimmering in the candlelight. Odin lay still beneath the sheets, his chest moving slowly, showing his life, still within him, though withering.

Frigga looked up at Natasha, her features softening upon seeing her, and gestured for her to take a seat. Natasha nodded and pulled up a chair to sit on the opposite side of the bed, only then did she see the baby in Frigga’s arms, curled up in a soft blanket against her grandmothers chest.

“What is her name?” Natasha asked softly, as if she feared to wake Odin. She would be surprised if she had, word had it that he had not stirred since his fall.

“I wished for Loki to name her, but I do rather like the name Hela.” Frigga smiled down at the girl in her arms, it was such a loving smile, of pure joy at such a wondrous creation. Natasha, however, could not feel the same. She had often seen mothers with their children, and had often tried to force herself to feel something, but she could not. She was not raised to be a mother, she had always lacked a female figure in her life, perhaps that was the problem. For some time she had supposed the feeling came when one experience motherhood themselves, yet as she stood outside Sigyn’s chambers, holding Loki’s daughter in her arms, she felt nothing but grief and panic, and nothing had felt better than when Frigga had taken the child from her arms and relieved her of the burden. “I thought of calling her Sigyn, out of respect for her mother, but… I do not think Loki needs another reason to avoid the child.”

“Why should he matter?” Natasha questioned bitterly, and Frigga stiffened somewhat.

“He is her father.” She replied in all seriousness. Her loving smile having faded from Natasha’s words.

“Then where is he?”

“The girl is not yet a full day old, he will come around. He deals with grief far greater than you may imagine.” Frigga turned back to the baby, smiling once more and bouncing the bundle in her arms.

Natasha wished to reply with some retort of how she did not need to imagine, she knew. But she did not wish to lose any more friends over the kings cruelty, and so turned her attention elsewhere. She looked down at Odin, watching his chest rise and fall, and noticing for the first time just how human he was.

“I never imagined he could be this way.” Natasha murmured pensively. “So vulnerable, so… normal.”

“It was the stress.” Frigga sighed, gazing at her husband sadly. “He had always battled with it, as you may expect, raising two sons like Thor and Loki.” Natasha chuckled, she supposed she could not blame him for his stress, she could not handle Loki alone, how would she have dealt with Thor as well, and their constant disagreeing. “It only grew worse at they grew older.”

“They are brothers, born to be rivals.” Natasha replied, her gaze flicking up to meet Frigga’s.

“Sometimes I wished for a daughter.” Frigga laughed quietly. “How much more peaceful it could have been.”

They laughed briefly together at the prospect. How different life would have been if that had been the case.

“I mean to leave tonight.” Natasha broke the silence that had settled between them, and Frigga nodded, having predicted as much.

“I understand.” Frigga whispered. She paused for a moment in thought then looked back up at Natasha. “Loki loves you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know that he _loved_ me.” Frigga shook her head sadly in disagreement.

“There was an evening, after one of the feasts to celebrate the victory of the battle in Jotunheim, many months ago now, but the memory is still fresh in my mind. Loki came to my chamber after you had prepared me for bed. I remember so distinctly how he had knelt down beside where I lay, I had been half asleep, though I paid attention to his words. He begged me to speak to Odin, to call off Loki’s betrothal. I asked him why. ‘Because I am in love.’ He said, his voice had been breathy and desperate, and his eyes watching me pleadingly. ‘Lady Natasha is the greatest creature I have ever beheld, and if I cannot spend my days with her by my side, I do not wish to spend them with any one at all.’

“Naturally, I had felt pity, for I knew there was little I could do to change Odin’s mind. Once a decision is set for him, there is no turning back. But I shall never forget to look of sadness on his face, my dear Natasha. He loved you so dearly, and he still does, he just… he refuses to acknowledge his affection for you.”

There was a lengthy pause between them, and Natasha tried to look anywhere but at Frigga, who gazed at her sadly. “You know.” Natasha laughed ironically. “None of this would have come to pass if your sons had not been chained to someone they barely knew.”

Frigga nodded. “It is true.” She smirked. “It seems I have raised a pair of lovesick fools.”

“You are a good mother, my queen.” Natasha replied, and Frigga smiled back at her broadly.

“How do you plan to depart?” Frigga inquired with concern.

“I do not yet know.” Natasha laughed. “Loki has made it almost impossible to find someone who shall take us anywhere.”

“Go to the docks.” Frigga whispered, leaning closer over the bed. “They are only a short walk from here, I trust you know the way. Tell them Queen Frigga sent you, and give them this.” Frigga pulled a golden pin from her hair and stretched her hand over the bed to pass it to Natasha, who raised a brow at the small, golden pin. “It is royal gold, passed down from generations of Asgardian rulers. A captain will know it when he sees it, and if he still refuses to admit you, tell him he may answer to me.”

“Thank you, my queen.” Natasha tucked the pin into her hair and stood abruptly. He hurried to the other side of the bed and embraced Frigga as best as she could with the baby in her arms. When they parted, Natasha looked down upon the child and found it in herself to smile slightly. “Hela. I rather like it.”

~X~

She stepped gingerly towards his door, and, without bothering to knock, entered slowly. Loki was sat in his armchair, watching her closely and in silence as she moved into the chamber, closing the door behind herself. Without a word he stood, and took three long steps to close the distance between them, until he was towering over her, he was so close.

Slowly he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. There were no words between them as he kissed her passionately, with none of his previous anger or hatred. The change in his attitude was welcoming to her, and Natasha cautiously wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her, because _gods_ , she had missed him! Her fingers trailed through his messy black locks as he grabbed at the fabric of her dress, scrunching the fabric in his fists and moaning against her lips.

Gradually his moans became more passionate, his grip on her became firmer, and she found herself pinned to him with no way out. She pulled her lips away from his just long enough to look him in the eye and behold the feral desire behind his gaze before he threw her onto the bed. She fell onto her front, but quickly found herself being flipped onto her back as Loki’s hands roamed hastily up her thighs to pull up her dress. Natasha tried to kick away his advances, regret quickly flooding through her as she realised all gentleness was gone from this man between her legs.

He pinned her legs back down to the bed, and with trembling fingers undid his breeches. She sat up, trying to coax some kindness from him by gently running her hands down his arms and untying his breaches herself, for she knew she could not leave, she could only endure. Once the laces were dealt with, and his breeches brought down to his knees, Loki grabbed Natasha’s wrists and pinned them above her head, pushing her onto her back. It was not unlike the things they had done before, when Loki had desired dominance, but there was a slight change. He was rougher than usual, his grip tighter, and she feared bruises unlike any he had given her before. She would not look upon the purple hues on her skin with fond memories of their copulation, but instead she would remember his cruelty, and his change.

With a deep, hard thrust he entered her, filling her so completely that she cried out in undeniable pleasure. Tears pricked her eyes as she screamed from his thrusts, and she freed her hands and clung to him, nails scratching at his skin. He groaned, lost in his own pleasure, too much so to notice her tears. He thrust into her ceaselessly, his breath hot and heavy on the nape of her neck, and his skin hitting hers with every movement of his hips. With one final cry of pleasure he came to his release. He fell beside her on the bed, and there they lay in silence for a moment. Natasha was still, her position having not moved since he pulled out of her, and tears streaked down her cheeks as she stared up at the green canopy she had come to know so well from the many nights she had spent in Loki’s bed.

Loki turned his head to look at her, and with a sigh, he wiped away a tear with the back of his hand, and wrapped her up in his arms, holding her close to his chest.

It was ruined. Her dream of spending the rest of her days beside Loki was nothing but a delusion. She knew she should have run away with him while she had the chance, maybe then he would not have turned into the monster he had under Asgard’s spell.

Now there was nothing but pain and suffering around him. He seemed to break everything he touched, even her. Never had she felt so weak as she did when in his presence, and she knew she could not spend any more time with him, it would do her no good, no matter how much she still cared for him. He made her vulnerable.

When she was certain he was asleep, and his grip around her waist had loosened, and the moon was full in the sky, she crept from the bed, gathering her clothes as silently as she could. Natasha dressed herself, watching Loki as she did so, to watch out for any stir in his sleep. It seemed that after their coupling he was far too tired to sleep lightly that night, and she was sure it was the first proper sleep he had received in some time.

With silent footsteps, Natasha moved to the door, quickly quitting his presence with one last look at his sleeping form. He looked so innocent, with no scowl to burden his features, so grim smile or tight line on his lips. No, he was completely devoid of expression, and he seemed completely at peace. She smiled, glad to have such an image of him as the last, she would cherish it.

She met Barton in the courtyard with their belongings, and together they hurried to the docks. A ship was waiting there, and Natasha had no doubt that Frigga had had some part to play in this, for it was unusual to have a ship ready to depart at such an hour. But she showed the captain the pin and he allowed them admittance to a cabin.

As Clint carried their bags to their cabin, the ship began to sail, and Natasha took one last glance at the golden city of Asgard, pleased with the knowledge that she would never see it again.


	20. I Travelled a Long Way (And it Took a Long Time) Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is to be the penultimate chapter, as part two shall be the last instalment of Broken Crown. It shouldn't take me too long to get that part out, but I'm sorry for the delay on this one. Enjoy!

“It hasn’t changed a bit.” Natasha observed with a low whisper. She knew Clint could hear her, she felt him standing just behind her, gazing over the darkened city of Midgard from the ships forecastle deck.

They had been sailing for a month, and Natasha longed to stand on solid ground and eat fresh vegetables and be as far away from saltwater as she possibly could be. It was a blessing, however, that Frigga had arranged a ship to take them, as otherwise they would have been travelling in a carriage for two whole months, stopping at inns and risking being seen by any who knew of their situation. She wouldn’t be surprised if Loki had sent out a search, he had always been stubborn, and hated having his things taken from him. That was what she was she supposed, his thing, something for him to use to pass the time, nothing more.

The boat drifted slowly through the dark waters, eliciting quiet waves of water to lap the boats stern. It was late in the evening, and the city was reduced to a mass of twinkling lights from street torches or candlelit rooms. It was quiet, save the noises of the water, as they approached the docks. A slight mist had settled over the small town that surrounded the city centre, and Natasha’s knees weakened with nostalgia, to feel the breeze and coldness on her cheeks, the dank atmosphere around her, it was like coming home. She had used to think of Asgard as her home, her new one at least, but her heart had never really left Midgard, where she had grown up, where she belonged. And now, now she was coming back a changed woman, whether she was changed for the best was debatable, but she certainly had a new perspective on life, she knew she would not take it for granted.

“We’ll meet Fury and the rest of the council tomorrow.” Natasha heard Barton step back, and she tore her gaze from the city to face him. “We’ll find an inn for tonight.”

“The Hogs Head” Natasha murmured, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Ivan used to go there each night when I was a child. More often than not, when he was too drunk to return home, and I was too weak to carry him, the innkeeper would give him a room for the night, free of charge. I suppose he took pity on me for having a drunkard as my guardian.”

“I never took Ivan for a drunkard.” Clint frowned, albeit he smiled at the thought.

“When it became clear that we were running out of money he managed to clean up and look for jobs. He was strong that way, able to turn himself around completely for the good of us both.” She turned back to face the city, unable to look at her husband when she uttered the rest of her words. “Not everyone can be so strong.”

Her thoughts turned back to Loki, as they always did more than once a day, and she imagined him, sitting on his throne, alone and vengeful. He had become unpredictable over time, his moods changing course like the wind, and though she hated to admit it, she was afraid of him, and what he might do if ever he found her again.

It was not as though they were well hidden, almost everyone at court knew she had wished to return to Midgard before Loki had forced her to stay, and really, where else would she have gone? She knew nothing of the foreign lands, the eastern isles and the forgotten cities outside of Yggdrasil, despite how much she had read about them.

“How far is this inn from the docks?”

“Not far, they should still be serving supper by the time we arrive.” She smoothed down her wild red curls that danced in the wind, and faced Clint again. “I will go fetch our bags, well should be arriving soon.”

They disembarked from the ship, Natasha’s knee’s knocked a little at the sensation of standing on firm ground. She inhaled the scent of the docks, the moist, salty air and the fresh coldness of the wind that swept all through Midgard. It felt like a dip in a river after a long hot day in Asgard, that relief, the satisfaction, it felt like home.

They wandered through the dark, empty streets, passing familiar houses and alleys, bringing Natasha back to a time before she had come to Asgard, fallen in love, married, had her heart broken and lost Ivan. The past year felt like a nightmare, and she had only just woken up, with only Lord Barton to remind her it had all really happened.

The inn was as busy as it had always been, nothing changed apparently, with the rowdy locals laughing and singing, whilst the serving girls laughed along with them and poured them jugs of ale. An involuntary smile stretched across her lips, it was the first joyful moment she had encountered in months. Even Clint looked pleased to be there, and with a hand on the small of her back, he guided her to the innkeeper, who stood behind the countertops, surveying the scene with a smile.

“Well I’ll be.” His eyes widened and he smiled behind his white beard. “Is thah Natasha Romanov oaw I see before me?”

“It is indeed.” Natasha nodded with a smile as she approached the counter.

“Where’s Ivan, then? Were’s me best payin’ customah?”

Natasha stiffened somewhat, and Clint cleared his throat awkwardly. “Lord Ivan passed some months ago in Asgard, mr…”

“Bromm, me name’s Bromm.” The innkeeper informed him quietly, yet loud enough to be heard over the music and singing. He wiped a large hand over his brow and sighed. “How did he pass?”

“Age.” Natasha replied. “It was just his time.”

“He were a good man.” Bromm nodded to himself. “Anything you want, it’s on the house.”

“Thank you sir.” Clint said earnestly.

“I’m no sir, boy.” Bromm replied gruffly and turned to Natasha. “Are ye needin’ a room for the night?”

“ _Two_ rooms, please.” Barton replied before Natasha could. She turned to Clint as Bronn shuffled away to retrieve a room key, and mouthed a ‘thank you’ to which Clint replied with a curt nod.

Bromm returned and handed over the key and poured them each a jug of ale. “I s’pose you’ll be needin’ this. How far’ve you travelled?”

“From Asagrd, it has taken us about a month.” Bronn let out a terse puff of laughter and shook his head.

“Well, ‘tis better than ridin’ I s’pose. You must be hungry, take a seat by the fire and me daughter Ysme will bring you what she can find.”

“Thank you Bronn.” Natasha leant over the counter and kissed the man on his whiskered cheek before making her way to a table and chair closest to the fireplace.

Clint followed closely, his eyes sweeping the tavern cautiously before he took his seat. “He was nice.”

“He’s known me since I was a girl, I told you, Ivan was one of his regular patrons.”

“So you know the villagers rather well then?”

“Somewhat.” Natasha shrugged in her chair as she gazed into the fire. “Ivan liked to keep me in our home as much as he could, but I would run errands for him every so often; fetch the bread, pick up his medicine from the apothecary. After I became a little too friendly with the butchers boy, Ivan tried his best to keep me indoors.”

“The butchers boy?” Barton smirked, intrigued by the idea of such a tale.

“Alexi.” Natasha smiled at the memory. “I thought he was my first love. He kissed me under a juniper tree behind our house, Ivan came running out, pinched the boy by his ear and dragged him back to the butchers to confront his father. I could never understand why he did that, why he ripped one of the only pleasures in my life away from me.”

“Protecting your innocence I suppose.”

“Who would have thought that the same man would later tie me to men I hardly knew?” Clint bristled in his seat and looked down at the floor uncomfortably. “If only he had not objected to Alexi, if only we had stayed here.”

“What became of him?” Clint inquired, still averting her gaze.

“The butchers boy? I’m not sure. I hardly saw him again after the incident, but I did hear he moved away, the eastern isles I heard.”

“Everyone goes there eventually.” Clint mused.

“Because everyone knows it is so dreadful _here_.”

“Do you really resent Ivan for making you marry me?” Clint asked quietly, though the words seemed to tumble from his lips, as though having been suppressed for some time.

“What?”

“I have tried to be good to you, Natasha, and I know what we have… it’s not perfect, but I would hope that you think it’s better than the alternative.”

“The alternative?”

“Marrying someone like Loki.” Clint sighed and sat upright in his chair. Ysme, the serving girl came to deliver their supper with a small smile, it wasn’t until she had returned to the kitchens that Clint continued. “Sometimes following your heart means forgetting what is practical. I know that I am not the romantic choice, but I am the practical choice, and Ivan knew that. I wont love you, but I’ll do my best to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting.” Natasha returned bitterly.

“Then I shall do my best to do right by you, and to be a friend. Will that do?”

“I don’t daydream of what my life would have been like with Alexi or Loki, not any more. I’ve seen the world for what it is, Clint, I know what you can offer me, and that’s why I am here, with you.” She took his hand over the table and stared earnestly into his eyes. “I chose the practical choice, because I know that following your heart only leads to pain.”

The delved into silence after that, each taking their meals quietly, and trying to stifle the moans of enjoyment, for they had not eaten such a good meal since Asgard. Good food had been provided for them on the ship, but for such a long journey, nearing the end of it everything was old and bland. This was fresh, hearty food, the type only found in the north.

After they had finished their supper, they sat in silence, drinking in the atmosphere. The fire crackling in the large stone hearth, the other patrons still singing and drinking. Natasha looked around sleepily, and maybe it was the tiredness, maybe it was her heart aching from how much it missed Asgard, but she could have sworn she saw a sweep of long black hair and pale white skin. Her heart leapt to her throat at the idea that Loki had followed them here, of course it was a ridiculous notion, but it was indeed a possibility. She stood from her seat, causing Clint to waken from a light sleep he had fallen into.

“I think I shall retire.” She croaked, wishing to hide in the comforts of a locked room more than anything.

“Aye, me too.” Clint yawned, he too stood and they both made their way to the staircase to retire.

Lord Barton sleepily bid her goodnight, and slipped into his own chamber, across the hall from hers. With a quick look about the creaky hallway, Natasha entered her chamber and retired for the night.

~X~

She woke slowly, disorientated, and curled up in her sheets. The bed was uncomfortable, and she remembered with a feeling of immense relief that that day was the day she would have her new home, hopefully with comfortable beds and a sizable library. Though despite such a thought, there was a feeling of dread weighing on her shoulders, for she knew that before she could rest in the comfort of a new house, she would have to confront the council of Midgard.

“Fury is not exactly _king_ of Midgard.” Clint informed her whilst he chewed on his breakfast. She set down her knife and fork and listened intently, for she felt quite the fool, having lived in Midgard her whole life and knowing nothing of it’s monarchy, but that was just one of the many outcomes of being locked away from society in her youth. Of course she knew the basics, Fury was the main face of the city, the man on the top, yet according to Clint he wasn’t. Ivan had always been the one to understand politics, she was the one who fetched the bread. “There’s a council, you’ll meet them today, but Fury was elected as the leader. Since York is so close to Midgard, somewhat part of it, you could say, Lord Stark is also on the council, though he does not attend all of their meetings.”

“Who else is on the council?”

“Lord Coulson, you met him, did you not? Lord Selvig, he’s a good man, his ward is Jane Foster.” Natasha paused is realisation, and Clint nodded understandingly. “He should like you, I am sure Jane has written to him many times about how welcoming all the ladies were upon her arrival.”

“She told me a lot about him, he sounds like a good man.”

Clint finished his breakfast and sat back. “You’re not eating.” He observed.

“I am not hungry.” Natasha replied, her stomach to jittery to think about food. Although she was relieved to know that a friendly face would be on the council, for she knew they would have a thing or two to say about how long it took them to actually come to Midgard.

Clint got up to fetch their bags before they departed, leaving Natasha to sit and wait. They had sent for a carriage to take them up to the palace, since the roads would be busy that time of morning, and the palace was a way away from the inn. Natasha sighed and relaxed back into her chair, closing her eyes out of fatigue. She had not slept well that night, too many thoughts had been jumping around her brain, too many questions, too many memories. The flash of black hair and pale skin burned at her thoughts and sent tingles over her skin. It was when an all too familiar laugh sounded out that Natasha opened her eyes and looked around. There it was, the long black hair, attached to a woman. She almost felt relief, if only she had not seen Thor, sitting in front of the woman with black hair, and staring back at Natasha in shock. Sif turned to see what had caught his attention, gasping when her focus fell on Natasha.

They stayed like that for some time, gawping at each other from across the tavern, until Barton returned with their bags, dropping them promptly when he noticed the runaway prince and his ‘secret lover.’

“Natasha.” Sif murmured, standing from her seat, Thor followed after her, both of their expressions apologetic. “I have missed you so much.”

“What are you doing here?” Barton asked, his tone rather bitter as he spoke, and Natasha thanked him for it. She could not think of a word to say, yet she longed to make her anger towards the pair clear.

“Loki refuses to allow me to see my father before he dies, he threatens to have Sif thrown in the dungeons.” Thor sighed, resting a clenched fist on the table beside him. “When we heard that you had left Asgard, we knew you would have come here, we need answers. Natasha, what has happened to my brother?”

All three turned to Natasha; she still sat, stiff, in her chair, staring up at them. “None of this would have happened if you had not left.”

“What has happened to my brother?” Thor repeated, his anger rising.

“He is not your brother, Thor, he’s been lied to his entire life, and now he has finally snapped. He is not the same man he was a year ago, if he was I would have stayed.”

“What do you mean he’s not my brother?” Thor’s face contorted in confusion, with sadness in his voice.

“Your father found him as a baby in the ruins of Jotunheim’s palace. He’s a Jotun, and adopted by your father. When he needed you most, when he was dealing with the new responsibility of the throne, because you had abandoned it, you were nowhere to help him. Does that explain to you why he is so cruel to you?”

“And where were you?” Thor demanded accusingly. “It is no secret that he loved you why did you not help him through this?”

“I could not.”

“Thor,” Barton intervened. “You must return to Asgard. There are many men there who would gladly help your cause and sneak you in to the city. You are still the prince, so you must save your kingdom from Loki, he is not the man he once was.”

“You think I would have help to go back?” Thor’s brows drew together as he considered the idea.

“No one forgot about you, my prince.” Natasha assured him from where she sat.

Sif turned to Thor, her eyes panicked. “Thor, no. If they catch us we shall be killed!”

“I cannot leave my mother to handle this alone.” He moved away from Sif who had grabbed his arm in urgency. “If Loki has forgotten his nature, like you say, then I must return to save my kingdom. I should never have left such a heavy burden on his shoulders.”

“Take a ship,” Barton suggested. “It’s faster.”

“If Loki is as far gone as you say, what hopes is there of bringing him back to normal?” Thor asked quietly, glancing at Natasha, for he knew she alone could answer his question with honesty.

“I don’t expect you can.” She murmured, and Thor’s head fell in anguish. “He is too absorbed in anger, I do not know what he is capable of in his state, but I know that it will not be easily fixed.”

“We shall return, then.” Thor sighed reluctantly and glanced at Sif. “Shall you come with me?”

“Well, I can’t let you fight him alone. You’d die without me beside you.” Sif smirked as Thor wrapped an arm around her shoulders and embraced her. Natasha and Clint watched awkwardly from the side as the pair murmured loving words together.

Thor went to gather their belongings, and Clint with him to help, leaving Natasha alone with Sif. The two of them sat in an uncomfortable silence for some time until Sif broke it with a sigh.

“I am sorry that you hate me, Natasha, but I had a chance to leave and I took it.”

“You left no note, nothing, it was as if you had never known me!” Natasha shook her head and picked at her dress irritably. She hated how petulant she was acting, but she could not help but feel bitter over the situation.

“I had no time to do so! I would have written you a whole two paged letter if I could have, front and back.” Sif stepped toward her gingerly. “I missed you.”

“Where did you go?” Natasha asked, her voice softening a little.

“It was wonderful, Natasha! We travelled west to Niflheim, and then to Muspelheim, you would not believe the heat in such a place, I dare say I have browned somewhat in the sun.”

“You do look rather changed.” Natasha mused, and with a quirk of her lips she noticed that it was not just her complexion that was so different about her friend. “You bedded Thor, haven’t you?”

“What?”

“It is the way you act, you’re different, you’ve slept with him.” A sly smile spread across her lips at the sight of Sif’s horrified expression. “Oh, come now, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Is it so obvious?” She whispered.

“To me, though I would wager not as many people are as smart as I.”

Sif lunged forward, kneeling beside where Natasha sat in her chair and rested her head on her knees. “Oh, I’ve missed this so much! Just talking, and being with you, I thought I should never see you again!” Natasha patted Sif’s head awkwardly and lifted up her chin, she felt rather regal in such a position, as though she were a lady of some importance. “I should never have left you alone.”

“I was not _alone_.” Natasha cut in sharply.

“Loki?”

“No, Jane, Sigyn, and Lady Pepper and Lady Maria before they departed for York shortly after you left. They kept me quite immersed in good company, even Amora and Freya spent their days with me.” Natasha paused, realising she would get nowhere if she punished Sif with such guilt and regret. “I never hated you for what you did. I felt angered for a short amount of time, but I understood.”

“Would you have done the same if Loki had asked you?” Sif looked up at Natasha curiously, her eyes damp with tears.

“He did ask me, many times actually.” Sif’s eyes widened, and her lips parted in shock. “I never once said yes, I had too many responsibilities. There was you, Sigyn and Ivan, there was always a reason to stay. Looking back, I would have said yes, maybe then none of this would have happened.”

“Look at us.” Sif laughed, wiping at her wetted cheeks. “Two girls falling in love with the wrong men.”

“You’re really going back?” Natasha asked with a soft voice.

“I cannot leave Thor by himself, gods know what would become of him unsupervised.” The two of them laughed quietly, alone in the spacious room. The fire still spat and crackled in the hearth, and the creaking of floorboards above them alerted the rising of other patrons, waking for the day.

Clint and Thor returned with their belongings and glanced uncertainly at the two women. Sif stood slowly from where she had knelt and sent Natasha a small grin. The four of them departed from the inn, stopping to say their goodbyes before Clint and Natasha entered their carriage and Sif and Thor went on their way to the docks. All animosity seemed lost, and replaced with a feeling of anxiety. Anxiety for what the future would hold for them, whether or not Thor could take back the throne and subdue Loki as best as he could without harming him. It wouldn’t come to that, would it?

Natasha and Clint clambered into their coach, waving their last goodbyes to their friends as they each disembarked for their own journeys.

~X~

It was a rather pleasant journey to the palace, despite the rather muggy weather and the bumpy, unsteady paths. Natasha felt light somehow, and rather content with her situation, for, despite the bitterness at first, seeing Sif one last time gave her great relief from her past worries. To see how much her friend shone with happiness, how the past months with Thor had changed her in such brilliant ways, it proved that Sif had made the right choice, which was what had always worried Natasha when she thought of them. There had always been the thought that after a few weeks of running and hiding from Odin’s search party, the novelty would have worn off, leaving Sif cold and tired and wishing to return. It was pleasing to see that their situation was otherwise.

Maybe if she had accepted Loki’s offer, maybe she would be as happy as Sif.

That was where her thoughts perpetually returned. Loki. What was to become of him? He would not be easily changed from his current disposition, and so the only action Natasha could imagine Thor taking in an act of anger to secure the throne was to put an end to Loki’s life. It was a foul thought indeed, but she supposed a necessary one at least. And, truthfully, it was not as though she would ever see him again, since he brooded on his golden throne on the other side of Yggdrasil, but just the thought of Loki being no more was too dreadful to bear. It didn’t seem possible to her that he could have an end, that someone so strong, who seemed almost immortal, could die just like she could.

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut as the first tear rolled down her cheek, and she turned her head towards the window of their carriage, to hide her emotions from Lord Barton. She did not want him knowing of what she cried over, she had involved him too much in her miseries. The man deserved some peace, well, they all did.

The carriage pulled up outside the grey, stone castle, and Natasha and Clint were hastily ushered inside, for, according to the guards, a storm was said to be approaching. They were correct. Clint and Natasha stood silently in the lengthy hall outside the council chamber, the wind howling outside and rain pattering on the windowpanes. The scene was somewhat reminiscent of when Natasha had waited outside the throne room in Asgard with Ivan, awaiting her meeting with Frigga. She hoped more than anything that the council of Midgard would be as accommodating.

The doors opened to a large chamber, darkened by the cloudy sky, with few lit torches on the walls. A round table was situated in the centre of the room, around which there sat three men and a woman, each member of the council looked up upon their entrance, some expressions harder than others.

One face in particular was familiar, Lord Coulson, who stood from his seat and gestured for them to sit around the table. “It is a pleasure to see you again, my lady, my lord.”

“At long last.” A darker man murmured in a deep voice that dripped with irritation. One of his eyes was covered with a black eye patch, and the better eye’s gaze swept over the two of them, hard and intimidating, yet after some sort of inner contemplation, he sighed and said. “Welcome to Midgard. I am Lord Fury.”

Natasha blinked, finding it strange to have heard the man introduce himself so, for she had heard him so many times by the title of ‘king’. Perhaps this man was humble, and if so, her anxiousness depleted somewhat.

“I am Lady Victoria Hand.” The woman said, her voice bold articulate as she scrutinised Natasha in particular. “This is Lord Selvig, and we are the council of Midgard.”

Barton dipped his head in respect. “I apologise for our delay in arriving. We had some issues in Asgard, which I did mention in my letters.”

“Yes, personal issues we understand.” Fury said in an amused tone as he leant back in his chair, surveying his guests with his one good eye. “I do hope that this shall not interfere with our partnership.”

“No, of course it won’t. These matters were left behind when we left.” Barton said quickly, sounding dreadfully nervous. Natasha looked at him and noticed the small beads of sweat lining his brow, and turned back to Fury. So, not humble then, instead it seemed he was a very intimidating character, perhaps that was how he gained his title as the leader of the council.

The conversation went on for about an hour, as they discussed the sort of work that Barton would be doing for them, and whether or not Natasha wished to take on such work herself. She told them she would think about it, but in the meantime she wished for some quiet after everything she had encountered in Asgard. They seemed understanding enough, allowing her a fortnight before she gave her answer.

“Well.” Coulson smiled, standing from his seat. “With that all decided, I suppose all that is left is to show you your new dwelling. Come, Selvig shall escort you there.”

Eric Selvig stood and led them from the room, leaving the remaining three councillors to discuss matters by themselves. He led them to a carriage waiting outside in the courtyard. They hurried out of the rain and into the shelter of the carriage that began to trundle towards their destination.

“I imagine you are fatigued from your travels.” Selvig smiled at them both. Natasha could detect similar traits in him that she would have seen in Jane; the sympathetic smile, the caring attitude. Honestly, if Barton had not told her himself that Selvig had raised Jane Foster, then she probably would have figured it out herself.

“We took refuge at an inn in Rosekeep.” Natasha replied, and he lit up at the name.

“The Hogs Head.” Selvig smiled as though remembering such a place. “I would go there before I was elected for council. A very pleasant little inn it is, though I do not go now. Rosekeep is a quaint little part of town, but not fit, I think, for a man of my status. How was your stay?”

“Very interesting.” Natasha said slowly, deciding to keep news of Thor’s presence from Eric’s ears.

“I was meaning to ask you something.” Lord Selvig leant forward in eagerness. “How was Jane, before you departed?”

“She was very well. I asked for her to come with us, to run away with us, but she declined my offer in favour of her duties.”

“Duties?” Selvig let himself fall back into his seat in disappointment. “That girl shall waste her life being so obedient. She could have returned, but instead she wished to stay?”

“I was just as confused as you.” Natasha smiled. “Still, if she desires to leave Asgard with a reputation for politeness, well, that is her decision. I could not sway her.”

“I shall write to her when I get the chance and beg her to return immediately.” Selvig sighed, his anger leaving him slowly. “She said a lot about you in her letters.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Very good things.” He laughed. “I wished to thank you for keeping her in good company whilst the world seemed to be falling down around her.”

“Trust me when I say this,” Natasha said sternly. “Thor was not her whole world. They were kind to each other, but there was no love there. The best thing to do is to let Jane marry whoever she wishes.”

The rest of their journey was in silence, Selvig contemplating Natasha’s words, Barton gazing out of the window at the passing houses and villagers. Natasha sat and closed her eyes. She was tired, the whole debacle had been exhausting, and the sooner they arrived at their new home the better.

They stopped outside a large iron gate, behind it there was a long gravel path that led up to a large manor. It was no grand abode, which was what she liked about it. There was something humble about the structure and its environment.

“There is a stream just a short walk from here, past that grove of tree’s” Eric said, pointing to the left of the house. “And there are many plots for growing plants, vegetables. It is all very quiet and relaxing in this part of the realm, but a close distance from the palace.”

“It is a very fine place indeed.” Clint observed, stepping into the drawing room of the house and looking to Natasha for her thoughts. “What do you think?”

“It is very nice.” She feigned a smile. It was indeed very lovely, but it was not home. Nowhere seemed to feel like home for her. “I shall be very happy here.”

~X~

It had been two months past. Natasha had returned from a meeting with Fury regarding a new job for her, and she quickly made her way back into her house to rest. That was when she saw her. Jane Foster sat at the servants table in the kitchen, Edmont, the stable boy was handing her a cup of water.

“Jane?” Natasha gasped from the doorway. At her voice, Jane stood abruptly, almost knocking the water from the boy’s hands.

“Natasha! Eric told me where you were living, I came straight here.”                   Jane rushed forward and embraced Natasha tightly; her small frame trembled in her arms.

“You just got back?”

“I took a carriage, the journey from Asgard has been long, but I needed to see you.”

“What is the matter?” Natasha guided her friend to a chair and took the water from the stable boy, who stood still watching the scene wide-eyed. “Edmont, see to it that Jane’s horse is fed.”

The boy left and they were left alone in the kitchen, Natasha proceeded to question Jane. “It has been such a strange few months, Natasha, I can hardly remember, but I must tell you what I know.

“I was wandering through the halls of Asgard, unable to sleep, for the palace had been in such a strange setting since Sigyn’s passing. It was late at night, and I am sure that no one else could sleep, but they were too afraid to leave their chambers in fear that they should encounter a ghost, or worse, their king. So I took a turn about the place, stopping by the gardens to admire the roses and the lavender bushes, I thought some fresh air should soothe me. It was then that I heard a strange commotion, a crashing and shouting. I hid in the darkness behind a pillar, for I was unarmed and though I had no idea what it was that had made such a noise, my instincts told me to stay away.

You know me, Natasha, I’ve never been good with instincts, so, _being_ me, I dared to take a look. It was in the distance, but I knew him when I saw him. Thor was striding through the back entrance of the palace, a string of people following close of his trail. I saw Fandral, Volstagg, Hogunn, Sif and even the palace guard Heimdall. I snuck out from my shadows to reveal myself to them, for I knew they were all friendly faces. Sif seemed rather crestfallen to see me, though Thor was all apologies, it told him it could wait, and demanded to know what they were doing there.

“Loki shall have you in the dungeons!” I hissed to Sif, and she seemed rather bemused by my concern for her.

Thor announced in a hushed voice that he was to challenge his brother. He told me to return to my chamber until all was safe, but I refused, I was to be there no matter what.”

“What happened?” Natasha found herself interrupting, she could not hold her tongue, for she was all to eager to know what had become of them all.

Jane swallowed thickly, a saddened expression on her face. “Loki had also heard the commotion, and he charged into the courtyard, weapons in his hands, ready to fight his brother. I told them to stop immediately, but I was pushed aside by Sif, who was readying her sword. Thor shouted at me to retreat to safety, he did not wish to see me harmed, but I could not retreat. Loki had gathered his loyal guards, and they surrounded the premises, caging us in.

Thor took on his brother while Loki’s guards fought Thor’s meagre army. I did my best to protect myself, procuring a sword from a fallen guard and swinging haphazardly at any who came to me. It went on for some time, Loki and Thor shouted and battled in the midst of it all, but then it all stopped, and all that could be heard was a cry from Thor, for Loki had gone silent. I turned to look, but turned away as soon as my eyes fell on the kings limp body. Loki lay in Thor’s arms, completely still. We all seemed to stare in shock as Thor carried his brother into the palace, and that was the last I saw of it. Fandrall took me to a carriage and told me to get back to Midgard, it was with no anger, but fear for my safety. So here I am.”

“Loki is dead?” Natasha whispered, not having listened to the end of Jane’s story, she was too shocked.

“Yes.”

Natasha recoiled and sank back into her seat silently. Jane watched her, still shaking slightly, if not more than before after having revisited such memories. “I loved him.” Natasha said. “Not as my prince or my king, but as his own being!”

“I thought so.” Natasha looked up at that and Jane smiled. “You were always so close with him, I knew there was more that met the eye. Here, I shall fetch you a drink.”

As Jane fetched a goblet of wine Natasha sat staring at the wooden flooring of the kitchen. No tears spilled from her eyes, no sobs left her lips, for she decided then that she would not cry over Loki, not again. She had spent so much time crying and worrying over him, and if what Loki had done over the recent months had proved anything, it was that he did not deserve Natasha’s tears. She would let anyone know that the news killed her inside, she would not cry over the death of Loki.


	21. I Travelled a Long Way (And it Took a Long Time) Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s a man in the garden, cravin’ a word with you, miss.” He panted, sweat beading on his brow from the heat.
> 
> “Who?”
> 
> “I’ve never seen him before, miss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've been so conflicted about how to end this, I've never been great at happy endings, and as you can see thus far in BC and even in a number of my other fics, I do tend to go with sadder, or just not super happy, endings. So that's why it's taken me so damn long to get this done, but I am really happy with this ending. Hope you guys like!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: MENTION OF RAPE. (Quite obscure, but I'm just being careful.)

Natasha and Clint had settled rather nicely into their new abode, their library stocked near full with books, some gifts from the council or recommendations from Jane, who visited frequently. Over the space of two years, Natasha had fallen back into life in Midgard, within her first month of living there she had reconnected with old acquaintances, villagers recognised her when she wandered about the market towns, inviting her to talk with them and tell them where she had been off to, what Asgard was like, and she had told them willingly, avoiding some of the more uncomfortable tales.

She began work with the council, receiving information from them about shady subjects about court, and using her image of innocence to gather what secrets she could, she even sat in on some council meeting at Fury’s request, and with time she found herself fast becoming one of his most trusted allies.

She had visited York numerous times over the two years, at Lady Pepper’s invitation and occasionally at Fury’s in order to complete one of his jobs. Stark and his men often visited Midgard too, for the journey was but a days ride, and their stay always assured a large feast at the manor Stark would stay at during his visits. None of them, Rogers, Banner, or Stark had taken any trips to Asgard, and word began to filter into her knowledge of trade being scarce between Asgard and the other realms of Yggdrasil. This had surprised her when she had heard it, thinking that after Loki had passed that Asgard would have moved on and prospered like it once had, but she disliked to think on it too much, for she knew it would only make her upset, and soon enough she stopped thinking about Asgard altogether, it became a distant memory.

Though, news did spread of Odin’s death and Thor’s marriage to Sif not long after his reclaiming of the throne, much to the chagrin of the council. Jane didn’t seem to mind, and even expressed her delight in such news, and her disappointment at not having been able to attend the ceremony.

It came as a surprise to Natasha, one spring afternoon, when she received letter from Sif inviting her to visit Asgard. She wrote with eagerness, begging for Natasha to return for but a week at least, for she had missed her intensely. Natasha had ignored the letter for a number of weeks, with the invitation hanging over her like a guillotine. She vowed never to return to that place, to never behold it’s fantastically golden palace, it’s scorching hot climate. Eventually Clint had discovered the letter and, like the gentleman he was, insisted that it was impolite to ignore an invitation from anyone, let alone the queen. Though Natasha knew he cared little for that, and had presumably informed Fury of the invitation and received the task of prying around Asgard’s palace in return. So they went, taking a ship once again to get there faster. Natasha insisted that they stay for no more than a week, though when they arrived she wished she had insisted on less.

Sif was most pleased to see them as they stepped from the carriage that had brought them from the docks, stepping as fast as she could down the steps into the courtyard, with a largely rounded belly that she held protectively with her hands as though it would fall off. The sight of it had of course prompted a look of sadness from Barton, who Natasha knew longed for a child, though he scarce said anything about it.

Frigga followed shortly after Sif, beaming and holding a small child in her arms. Much too young to be Sif’s, and with familiar raven black hair and green eyes that stared in awe. Her name was Hela, Frigga had told them proudly as she bounced the girl on her hip. She had fat rosy cheeks just like her mother, though she largely resembled her father, Loki. It was a rather haunting sight, and Natasha could not bear to look at the girl for too long, though she did remark on her beauty and loveliness to please Frigga.

It had been when she had stumbled upon his tomb that she knew she had to leave. She really should have been thinking a little bit more, she shouldn’t have been venturing so far down into the palace’s underground tunnels. It had been a day with poor weather, and seeing as she found it difficult to stay too long in the library, she had sought out some other form of entertainment; exploring. She had never really done much of it when she had been living there, too busy waiting on Sigyn or reading in the gallery.

It was when she had began passing stone epitaphs, statues depicting old monarchs, that she knew she had gone too far, yet she continued to venture deeper. She found Odin’s tomb rather easily, with flowers and candles placed around his statue, his stone face somewhat softer than what it had actually looked like. But then she found Loki’s beside it, fewer candles were placed at his feet, some burned out long ago, and a few flowers scattered around, most likely given by Frigga. His stone features were scarily accurate, and before she had stumbled upon his statue she had only passed it with her torch, nearly screaming out for thinking it was actually him. His cold lips twisted into his signature smile and his grey eyes still pierced into her heart. She placed her hand on his cheek, so cold beneath her touch. “I shouldn’t have come.” She whispered to herself, and hastily spun on her heel to leave, so fast that she almost extinguished her torch.

Their stay had lasted only a week, with Natasha eager to return to Midgard and escape the foul memories of Asgard, and Barton restless and concerned by Natasha’s jumpy and fretful attitude. They sailed back in the afternoon, with Sif waving beside Thor, who had been quiet for a majority of their stay, often caught chewing his lip anxiously or watching Natasha with some form of guilt in his demeanour. They thought nothing of it, Sif had been quick to ignore her kings discomfort, even Frigga had apologised on her sons behalf, claiming that he had been anxious on the lead up to their arrival. Natasha dared a reassuring smile at Thor as the boat drifted from the docks, perhaps the sight of her brought back memories of his brother, if so, it was best that they were departing.

~X~

It was a hot summer day in Midgard, with a cloudless sky above her as Natasha tidied away a number of books left lying around front parlour of their house. Barton was away in York as requested by Fury, to speak with Stark and his advisors, she had been invited of course, yet with such heat she preferred to stay in the shade, and the prospect of a days ride was most unwelcome to her. So she arranged the house in the way that she liked, constantly on her feet, for she knew if she sat she would grow bored and wish she had gone with Clint to York.

She made use of the time she had to herself, reading, writing letters to Pepper or Jane, even venturing out to the market in a fit of extreme boredom. A number of servants insisted that they perform the trivial task, but Natasha needed to take her mind off of things, and declared that it was fine, that she should take care of the responsibility instead. She returned with baskets of goods, and a number of servants ran to aid her, taking the fruits from her hands and running to the kitchen. She helped them unload the baskets, making idle conversation like she had with some of the sellers down at the market, even with a number of knights, mainly Sir Barnes, who she had grown especially close to after the winter feast in the palace.

It was then, as she was busy placing apples into a large bowl, when Edmunt the stable boy ran in to the house to find her. She sighed inwardly, never having grown to the boy. Clint treated him like family, perhaps even saw him as his own son, and that was why Natasha tolerated him, despite his refusal to listen to her when she asked him not run into the house with dirt and horse shit on his boots. She left the kitchen to catch him in the parlour and find out why he called for her.

“What is it Edmunt?” She asked, exasperated already and he had yet to even speak.

“There’s a man in the garden, cravin’ a word with you, miss.” He panted, sweat beading on his brow from the heat.

“Who?”

“I’ve never seen him before, miss.” Natasha sighed, not in the mood to question him on such matters. He seemed to notice her annoyance and continued uncertainly. “He’s got dark hair… stern lookin’ brow…”

“Tell him I haven’t got the time.” She said. It was probably Sir Barnes, he had said he would check in on her down in the market, knowing Barton was away and probably looking to fuck her in his absence. She really did not have the time, the servants still buzzed around the place, it wouldn’t be proper to have him in to talk, let alone what he was considering. They had done it before, and many times, but it was always discreet, for she did not wish to harm Barton any more than she already had.

“He seemed eager, miss.” She smirked a little, but pressed the boy to do as told. He ran from the room to do so and Natasha stepped to the window to try and see her unwanted guest, but they were out of her view, so she took a seat to think about it, contemplating the idea of getting a room at an inn again, for Barton would be out of town for some time indeed.

Not long after, the boy came running back in and she stood from her chair about the scold him for running again, when he stopped and explained himself.

“He refused to leave, miss.” He ejaculated, panic in his ice blue eyes.

“Go again and tell him to go, tell him I’m busy.” She said sternly, though confused, Sir Barnes was not often so demanding.

“But, miss, he wouldn’t leave!” The boy cried, gesturing his had behind him and towards the archway that lead from the house entrance hall to the parlour. Standing there, beneath the arch and leaning against the wall, was Loki.

“Go fetch yourself some water, boy.” He murmured in his familiarly low, baritone voice, eyes trained on her. “I am willing to bet that this should take some time.”

“No.” She managed to say, her voice stronger than she would have expected. “Get out.” The boy looked between he two of them, finally looking to Natasha for an answer. “Go Edmunt.”

He left, leaving the two of them alone together. Natasha didn’t know what to think, staring at him as if he were a phantom, about to disappear and leave her again. He stared back at her, his lips curled slightly in amusement, and it was obvious that he relished the fear in her expression, having waited long enough to surprise her like this. He looked different in some ways, his hair shorter, cropped to just beneath his ears, his cheeks coloured, a sign that he had not spent the two years cooped up in hiding, but he was still pale, still a menacing figure in her doorway.

“Did you miss me?” He smirked, each word just another conformation of his existence. He was really there, in her house, leaning on her wall, smiling at _her._

“I thought you were dead.” Natasha said coldly.

“Did you mourn?” His lips twisted into a cruel smile.

“No.” It was no lie, not exactly, for she had shed no tears over his death, she had been saddened by the news, enraged even, but she had not cried for him. His smile dropped and he continued to glare at her. “Are you going to explain anything to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“They told me you had died.” She stepped close to him, albeit cautiously, as she was still growing used the fact that after two years of thinking he was dead and never to return to her, here he was standing, bold as brass, right in front of her.

“I suppose I should be thanking Thor for that.” He grinned. “He knocked me unconscious during our fight, luckily our men where too busy fighting each other to notice. Apparently he brought me into the palace where my mother did her best to revive me. She thought me dead too, but when she had left the room, I woke to Thor snivelling by my bedside.

“It was then, Natasha, as if Thor had knocked the insanity out of my head and brought me back to my senses, that I realised I wanted to see you, and only you, no one else mattered. I have been a fool, and I understood that then. Thor helped me to escape, telling everyone that I had passed, and gifted me his horse for which I used to ride from the city under the cover of darkness.”

“It must have been a slow horse if it took you two whole years to find me.” She remarked bitterly. He chuckled slightly at that and shifted his feet.

“Before I left, Thor told me he had seen you at an inn and you persuaded him to return to Asgard. He told me you seemed content, I did come to Midgard, but after some thought, I left before I found you, realising I did not wish to disturb you any more than I already had.”

“How thoughtful.” She deadpanned, crossing her arms defensively. “So why are you here now?”

“I have travelled for so long, Natasha, I’ve been to all of the places we spoke of running away to, the eastern isles, even the forgotten realms we read about together. Such _beauty_ in those places, I realised I only wished to share it with you. You have been my only thought these past two years.”

She scoffed and turned away, needing more than anything to draw her attention from him. She hated the way his words got to her, surely they were all lies, manipulations and tricks?

She walked to the other side of the parlour to stand by the open window and breathe in the fresh air to clear her mind, but then she heard his footsteps moving close behind her and she spun around, too quickly it seemed, for the heat and the speed gave her a light-headedness, and Loki quickly became blurry. For a short moment she feared she had imagined him, that the image of his was a manifestation from the heat and her empty stomach, but soon her vision cleared and he stood so close to her she could reach out and touch him if she desired.

“I need you to go.” She said, eyes downcast and unwilling to meet his. His gaze had the power to make her knees weak and her heart beat unnaturally fast. She hated it.

He protested at first, stepping closer so that she could feel his breath on her cheek, but she pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him from her. He was so real, so alive. And being so close up she could fully see his features, still pale, still hardened like stone, his eyes still so green and mesmerising. He seemed to see the same in her, staring at her unrelentingly, but she pushed him from her and he dipped his head apologetically.

“I do not want to give up on you.” He whispered. He shut his eyes as he spoke, with a look of pure hurt, she had to shut her eyes as well to keep from feeling for him.

“Please go.”

He left quietly with no more to say, giving her one final glance before he disappeared again. She fell back into her chair, heart beating wildly and chest heaving as though she had ran for miles. Had it really just happened? Had Loki really just been standing in her doorway, pleading for her forgiveness, or was she going insane?

Maybe it was the boredom. Nevertheless, she sat alone in the parlour, all servants too shy to ask if she were alright, she would have demanded they leave her alone anyway. She retired early that evening, with the sun still in the sky, low, but shining though her windows still. She had kept herself as busy as she could, not wanting her mind to fall onto the inevitable, she kept them occupied enough. She curled up in her sheets, breathing heavily as the reality came flooding back, all of those thoughts and feelings that she had compartmentalised breaking through. This new life that she had made for herself, she had built it under the understanding that Loki would never return, that she had no chance of seeing him again, but now? Now it would crumble beneath his feet, and she would most likely let it happen.

~X~

He returned the next day, knowing that Lord Barton would not return until three days time, and followed Edmunt through the front door and into the front parlour, uninvited and averting the boys wary gaze. Natasha glowered at him from where she sat reading, drumming her fingers against the arm of her chair. She said nothing for the entirety of his visit, but he did not seem to mind, he just watched her in return, needing no conversation, just silence and the opportunity to behold her. It had been two whole years, how he had missed the fire in her hair, her eyes and her spirit!

It did surprise him that she did not attempt to throw him from her presence immediately, instead she pretended that he was not there at all. He would chuckle when she refused to reply to any of his inquiries; how she was faring, what the council was like, how Barton treated her, and if Edmunt, the stable boy, was her own. She had stilled momentarily at the last question, and Loki had held his breath in anticipation, fearing the worst. She returned to what she was doing with a miniscule shake of her head, he chose to believe it was an answer rather than a trick of the eye, for had he not been staring intently at her he would have missed it. His visit lasted an hour, he left quietly, so much so that Natasha did not even realise that the room was empty. Once again she fell back into the closest chair, hands sweaty and shaking as if she had seen a ghost. Perhaps she had.

~X~

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Sir Barnes slurred, a half smile gracing his lips. His eyes were glazed as he watched her over the table, a crowd of other patrons watched over the table passing jugs of ale and cheering, groping serving girls, even taking some away to a private room. Natasha kept her focus on Barnes, she knew the girls never protested to fumbling around in the dark with a drunken knight, they had done it numerous times before, but it was the mans roughness that made her feel as though the countless mugs of ale she had drunk were about to rise back up her throat. Their clumsy hands pawing over the woman as she giggled, herself just as drunk as they. In her own intoxicated state she remembered gentle hands smoothing over her bare skin, rough where and when she wanted them to be, yet always loving.

“Another tankard Barnes.” She smirked, working her thoughts from such places. “And I can guarantee you that I will still be the last one standing.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Barnes hit his fist down, hard, on the tables surface, eliciting drinks to fall over from the impact, spilling sticky liquid over them, the crowds merely burst out laughing as Barnes shouted for the barkeep. “Another!”

More tankards were brought to their table, and in sync, Natasha and Sir Barnes both brought their tankard to their lips, waiting to begin. She watched him predatorily over the rim of her mug, her lips pressed lightly at the metal, his own gaze grew almost feral in want before a spectator shouted for them to drink. They downed their drinks, refusing to lose eye contact, even as the mugs were lifted higher as the ale slipped down their throats. She let her foot climb his leg beneath the table, eyes flashing in amusement as he choked in surprise, spluttering ale over himself. Natasha finished her own drink and slammed the tankard down, grinning at her victory.

She didn’t know how she got there, in that tavern, surrounded by drunken strangers as she drunk herself into a stupor. Bucky had had something to do with it, she was sure, though she would have normally declined such an offer, she knew it had something to do with her mind whirling with thoughts she knew would drive her crazy. Still, this was a poor alternative.

“I believe you seem to have gotten me rather flustered, my lady.” Barnes purred in her ear as they later stood in the corner of the crowded tavern, his breath reeking of ale and his tunic drenched in the sticky substance. He pressed himself against her so she could feel his hardness. She didn’t think about how they must have looked, a married woman and a knight, drunk and pressed against each other in the early hours of the morning. She didn’t think because she couldn’t, she was being selfish, drunk and stupid. “Allow me to clean myself off and pay the innkeeper before I take you to my room for the night.”

She nodded with a clumsy grin and watched him walk away into the crowds of patrons. She had been standing there for some time when a very drunk Sir Ward came stumbling towards her, wrapping her in his arms despite her pushing at him and shouts for him to leave her alone, they had never really gotten along much.

“Come on, Romanov, do not tease me this way.” His hand travelled down her skirt, fisting the fabric and pulling it up to feel at her thighs. She pushed again and he staggered back, only to move closer, rougher this time. “You expect me to just walk away, Romanov? I’ve wanted this for too long.”

She kneed him between his legs and he doubled over in shock, his hand reflexively reaching for his sword or a dagger but she kicked it away, grabbing the attention of a number of other knights, who sobered instantly at the sight of their comrade on the floor and reached for their weapons just the same. Natasha, seemingly cornered like a wild animal, darted from sight and out the back door of the tavern, stumbling over old barrels of ale and wine, falling into the dirt and scrambling back up onto her feet. She knew they would follow her, knights and alcohol was always a dangerous combination, and under the cover of darkness it was no question of the foul things they would do to her should they catch her.

Panicked and intoxicated she stumbled through the empty alleys, catching her feet on the cobblestones, until finally she fell forwards, almost falling straight onto her face had it not been for strong arms winding around her waist and lifting her up. She tried to cry out but a hand covered her mouth, muffling the sounds. Whoever it was, they lifted her over their shoulder, as she kicked at their chest violently, urging to be let go. It didn’t take long to tire her out, and soon the whole world went dark.

Natasha woke in a bed that was not her own, confusion overcoming her before the panic, and she quickly patted herself down, sighing in relief to feel herself fully clothed. She lay still for a moment, trying to piece together what had happened, but she could not remember anything after she had been carried away. She heard a muffled sound of moving beside her, but the bed was empty as far as she knew, having spread her arms about to discover her abductor. She turned her head towards the window to see a silhouette sitting in a large armchair, watching her. Natasha could not make out his face, though she knew it was a male, her panic began to grow once more.

“Who are you?” She croaked, her throat dry, which prompted the man to reach forward and procure a jug of water. He stepped forward to perch at the side of the bed. She could see him now, his sharp features, green eyes and black hair. Loki poured her a cup of water and placed it in her hands.

“Drink.” He said quietly and allowed his fingers to brush against hers longer than necessary as he moved his hand away.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes still adjusting to the change in light, but she couldn’t miss the way his eyes flicked to their hands, still brushing together, and she had to admit it made her skin prick with goose bumps to feel him so close to her again. She had missed him, and there he was, sitting beside her, so close she could hear his breathing.

She sat up and sipped the water, uncomfortable with the knowledge that he watched her, that he had seen her that night. Gods, she felt to stupid, so pathetic. Natasha averted his gaze in case she saw a hint of judgement in his looks, or sympathy. There had been a time when she didn’t think him capable of sympathy, or caring, now she was not so sure.

“I don’t know why I am doing this.” Loki said quietly with a sigh. She turned to look at him curiously, his eyes downcast and sad. “You told me to leave you, but I cant do that Natasha. You told me you never loved me, you left me without a word, yet I still need you.”

“You cannot seriously be making me the villain in this circumstance, can you?” She rasped, eyes wide. “You treated me like a prisoner in Asgard, forced me to stay against my will, and you treated me like shit.”

“I know.” Loki whispered, his eyes glazed and troubled as he looked back at her. “I am sorry.”

She hesitated for a moment, her jaw tense as she stared back into his eyes. “I accept your apology.” She said, the words coming out of her mouth unsteadily, though she knew she meant them.

He moved close to her on the bed, his face inches from hers. “I need to know if you can ever trust me again.”

“I don’t know.” She stuttered. He was so _close,_ she could lean in and kiss him if she wanted to, and part of her wanted to. His lips were parted and her mind flashed back to memories of them trailing along her throat, down her abdomen, between her thighs. How much trust she had had in him then. Intimacy. Love.

“I still love you, Natasha.”

Slowly and gingerly she closed the space between them, her nose brushing against his before their lips met in a soft, chaste kiss. His hands found their ways up her thighs as one of her own stroked his cheek, relishing in the way it felt to touch him again, to be close to him, to feel his breath against her skin. She would cling to him forever if she could. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, snaking her arms around him to clutch him tightly. He did the same, stroking her curls, kissing her neck. It felt safe, like belonging.

“Gods, how I have missed you.” He murmured into her hair, his voice shaky as his grip around her tightened. “My love, my love.”

“I love you too, Loki.” She sobbed. “I love you.”

He captured her lips in another kiss, passionate and desperate as he cradled her face in his hands. “Never leave me.” He murmured against her lips, picking up her thighs for her to straddle his lap. “Come away with me.”

“I can’t.” She gasped as his hands glided over her thighs and beneath the layers of her dirt tracked dress.

“Yes, you can.” Loki whispered against her neck, and she was unable to think straight, her desire so intense that all she could think of was how much she wanted him.

“I don’t trust you.”

Loki grinned as her words came out in breathy moans, his fingers working against her clit. “You trust me enough with this.”

“It’s not the… same.” She gasped, on the brink of orgasm. “It’s different.”

He pulled his hand away from her to pick up her cup of water and took a drink nonchalantly. Her eyes went wide, lips parted in shock. “I cannot do this if it is only to be once.”

“Don’t manipulate me.” She growled, knocking the water from his hands and pinning him down. She ground her hips against his, angered with how he left her unsatisfied.

“I am only showing you what you want.” He smirked, grasping her hips and moving against them for friction. “You want me, and not just for one final go, but forever. Come away with me.”

“I can’t.” She replied, leaning forward so their lips touched again.

“You can.” Loki smiled, brushing curls behind her ear and running his forefinger against her jaw. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Where would we go?”

“Wherever you wish.”

“You have to promise me it won’t go back to the way it was.” She whispered, searching his eyes to detect hesitation. There was none.

“I promise. I don’t want it to go back to that any more than you do.”

“Okay.” Her lips spread into a small smile, uncertain though it was, it was hopeful. He captured her lips in another kiss, and they clutched each other tightly again, only this time, they promised to never let each other go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And thus ends another one of my fics. Good news, I have another in the works, it's called Burn, and I'm not sure when I will be posting it, but I do already have a bit written. I've got holiday from work this week and in two weeks time again, so I may get a lot done! 
> 
> Also, if you haven't already seen it, I'm co-writing another blackfrost fic with Futurerustfuture-dust. Check it out, it's looking really good so far. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic, please leave a comment! I'd love to know what you're all thinking :) xxx


End file.
